


Something Old, Something New

by sirenlungs



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenlungs/pseuds/sirenlungs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in an unhappy marriage Emma Swan finds that her once fulfilling life is anything but that. Can the reappearance of old flame, Killian Jones, help her find what she's been missing? Rated M for later chapters. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Emma Swan twisted the two rings around her finger, counting every lap the diamond and wedding band rotated around it, a habit she’d picked up two and a half years ago when she had first gotten engaged.

            A telltale sign that she was anxious.

            She continued to drink her glass of chardonnay, trying to compose herself but to no avail. She tried not to look at her phone, knowing full well that Walsh hadn’t and wasn’t about to answer her text message that she sent him an hour ago any time soon. _You’d think my own husband would get back to me_ , she thought bitterly, _but God knows he’s more committed to his job than his own wife_. Giving up, she makes sure that her phone’s ringer is loud and running, and takes her glass of chardonnay with her to the living room, leaving her phone on the kitchen counter.

            Still twisting her rings, she stares at the package that she received in the mail today. Her college roommate, Mary Margaret, was finally tying the knot with her long time boyfriend, David.

_It’s about time, really_. She thinks as she opens the rustic wooden box, tied together with a rose blush ribbon. In it there’s a monogrammed necklace, a flask, a packet of Jordan almonds, countless other knick-knacks, and a heart-warming letter with hand-lettered cursive typeface bearing the words, “Will you be my bridesmaid?”

            Emma doesn’t really know what’s stopping her from calling Mary Margaret up and accepting her offer. She’s ecstatic for her and for David. She’s known both of them since freshman seminar and couldn’t think of a more perfect couple to decide to spend their lives together. She wants to do it, and she will. But right now, looking around her dark and empty Upper West Side apartment, she can’t bear to think about how there could be people who aren’t as miserable as she currently is.       Bitterly, she reprimands herself about being so angry. For a woman who spent so much time during her childhood jumping from foster home to foster home, she had certainly ended up in a much better place than anyone else she has met. Her apartment is lavish, she’s a top New York marketing executive, she’s married to an attractive, successful, if albeit neglectful husband, and the Harry Winston rock on her finger is worth the down payment on a car. There is no reason for her to be unhappy, except that none of the things she’s listed off makes her feel particularly fulfilled. Her job is the only thing that gives her some sort of vocational fulfillment, given that it’s the only thing that wasn’t handed to her on a silver platter by getting involved with Walsh. No, she got that corner office by her own very hard work.

            She downs the last of her glass, relishing in the fuzzy, warm feeling in the pit of her stomach as the effects of the wine reach almost every end of her body. Standing up, she heads back to the kitchen and forgoes pouring herself another glass and just takes the entire bottle back into the room. Checking her phone, she isn’t surprised to see no message waiting for her, and continues to her room.

           

            Two hours later the alcohol in her system is putting her in a worse mood than she was previously. Chardonnay bottle forgotten on the floor of the bathroom she’s been in the tub for God knows how long. The water, once frothy and warm has turned cold and milky with soap. Her fingers and toes are pruned from so much exposure to water. Emma can’t see straight, alcohol blurring her vision and her surroundings. She can’t help but ask herself where did it all go wrong? Walsh and her were an incredible couple. She remembers the times in the beginning, how incredibly happy they were. How she felt how he couldn’t get enough of her, coming home early, convincing her to take off from work to stay in the sheets all day, talking and laughing, making love so frequently. But why is it that now they’re a hollow shell of the couple they used to be? Where was the passion, the company, the love they promised each other until death do they part? She’s rabid with anger, hot tears prickling the back of her eyes, her nose scrunching up trying to stop them from falling down. When she finally exits the tub and heads to her room she has half a mind to chuck her rings at all the smiling pictures of her and Walsh.

_This isn’t living. This isn’t what I signed up for._

            It’s almost one o’clock in the morning when, after crying for a fair amount of time, she finally falls asleep.

 

***

            Emma almost doesn’t wake up at her usual time, a quarter to seven. She barely heard her alarm clock going off. The morning greets her with an incredibly horrible headache.

            “Too much wine.” She mutters to herself, barely being able to swing her legs over to get out of bed. When she stands the room around her sways a bit and an awful sensation swells in the pit of her stomach. She’s very aware just of how drunk she still is. Walsh is nowhere to be found, but he messaged her when she was too drunk to notice it last night, that he was staying over in the office that night because of the mountain of work he and his team still needed to finish.

            “I wonder what the press would think if they knew New York State senator Walsh Hamilton’s wife was going to work still drunk?” she mused, trying to make herself look presentable and less like the shit show she looks like now. Finally finished, she heads for work.

           

            Her phone vibrates as she and a dozen other people, each in their own world, cross Madison and 7th.

            “I was just about to call you!” she says trying to rid herself of Mary’s scolding.

            “Yeah, I was wondering if you had died or something last night! Did you get my package, cause I figured you’d be the first to call but you didn’t.” she sounds slightly annoyed, her usual motherly tone nowhere part of this conversation, Emma doesn’t know if she’s teasing or not.

            “I meant to call, I just had a terrible night last night.” she replies.

            “Walsh?” Mary offers knowingly.

            “Yep.”

            “Em, you’ve got to talk to him. It’s not doing your relationship any good for you to hold resentment towards him.”

            “I know, I know. I just wish he _was_ actually there so I _could_ talk to him. But he doesn’t care. I swear he only thinks of himself.” Emma replies exasperatedly.

            “I’m sure that’s not it. He loves you, it’s true love remember?” her hopeful tone is cute, but not cute enough to convince Emma.

            “Yeah, okay. Let’s change the topic, can we? So, you’re finally getting things together for the wedding.”

            “Yes! By the way, what’s your answer? I can’t not have you as my maid of honor! You need to guide me through this and be my savior!” she pleads.

            “Alright, I’ll do it! I’ll do it! But promise me you won’t get crazy.” Emma warns sternly but smiles despite herself.

            “I promise! I promise I’ll be good!’ she squeals something about being so excited and that she has to go and tell David before hanging up. Emma feels a little better that morning. She feels like someone needs her, and that’s something she hasn’t felt in a while.


	2. Chapter 1

 “How about this one?” Mary Margaret comes out of the dressing room with so much hope in her voice it almost sounds like desperation. The dress is beautiful, but not quite what they’ve been looking for within their budget range. Emma gives her head a curt little shake, plunging Mary Margaret into a deeper state of exasperation.  
“What’s wrong with it?!” Mary Margaret huffs.  
“Feathers? The entire skirt is made of feathers.” Emma says simply.  
“It’s feathers over silk taffeta, Emma. Silk. Taffeta.” She snaps.  
“It’s horrible. I think you’re just desperate to find a dress to the point of choosing an awful one just to get this over with. As maid of honor, I cannot let you walk out of here with that dress.”  
“Thank you, Miss Tact. Why don’t you pick one?” Mary Margaret snaps again.  
“I did, you didn’t like it.” Emma can tell that her calm demeanor is further pushing Mary Margaret over the edge.  
“I said no flowers.” She replies hotly.  
“Mags, you said you’d behave.” Emma says plainly.  
“I am behaving! I have four months till my wedding and this is the third store we go to and I need to find my dress today! Today! Come on, Linda! Get me out of this dress.” Linda, the sales rep, follows dutifully clearly accustomed to brides on the verge of nervous breakdowns.  
Linda comes back a couple of moments later telling her that Mary Margaret has changed her mind and she’ll try the dress Emma pointed out earlier.

Mary Margaret walks out of the dressing room a few minutes later wearing the dress. It’s a crisp white net-over-satin ball gown with a lace bodice of organza apple blossoms with shimmering rhinestones and crystal centers. The skirt has scattered blossom details and on the waist a satin sash with a back bow. Personally, Emma thinks its perfect for her.  
Mary Margaret is quiet, cocking her head at her reflection, inspecting every inch of it.  
“What do you think?” Emma offers.  
“I don’t know-“ she starts.  
“Linda, bring the veil!” Emma cuts her off quickly. Moments later Linda scurries forward with a two-tier fingertip length veil featuring the same organza flowers like the ones Mary Margaret has in her dress and a beaded embroidered edge. As she pins it to Mary Margaret’s jet-black pixie, Emma can see in her friend’s reaction that they didn’t need to look in any more stores.  
“How about now?” she offers.  
“I feel like Snow White.” Mary Margaret replies, a shell-shocked expression still gracing her delicate features.  
“Well, considering she’s your favorite I’m gonna say that we can check dress hunting off our list?”  
“Mhmm.” Mary Margaret replies absentmindedly.  
“Are you going to take it off or…?” Emma prods.  
“What? Oh! Yeah.” Mary Margaret replies through a laugh.  
“Well, hurry up! I’ll buy you lunch.”  
***  
“Emma!” Mary Margaret exclaims loudly mid-conversation, eyes wide, making the waiter at their favorite bistro, Granny’s, look at her concerned.  
“What?” Emma starts.  
“I forgot to tell you! Guess who David ran into like three weeks ago?” She continues excitedly.  
“I couldn’t tell you.” Emma replied simply, not in the mood for guessing games.  
“You’re not even going to try to guess are you?”  
“Nope. Who’d he run into?” Emma asks, her mouth full of roast beef and bread from her French Dip.  
“Killian!” At the mention of his name Emma feels her entire body run cold. Her throat runs dry and she has trouble swallowing the rest of her sandwich, causing her to choke and nearly die in the process.  
“Well I expected you to react badly to this but nearly dying wasn’t something I envisioned.” Mary Margaret tells her, her voice somewhat concerned but she still speaks between laughs.  
“I’m sorry, what? You better be kidding, the last thing I need is my ex showing up in the middle of my midlife crisis.” Emma sputters anxiously.  
“I’m curious. Can you have a midlife crisis when you’re 29?” Mary Margaret teases.  
Emma just waves her hands at her. Instead of whipping up a snarky remark, she knits her eyebrows together and bites her lip, her mind running a mile a minute. She and Killian didn’t exactly end up in the worst terms when they broke it off and she knows she has nothing against the guy. She doesn’t really know why she’s so worried about him being in town. It’s just been so long. How many years? Seven? Eight? Eight. Shit, that’s a long time.  
“How long is he in town for?” she asks.  
“He lives here now.” Mary Margaret answers simply.  
“What? Where?” Emma feels the edge of a panic attack quickly approaching. Her heart was beating faster and faster by the second.  
“Jesus, I don’t know Emma. David talked to him, not me.” Mary Margaret shrugs.  
“When did he move here?” Emma is relentless. She needs information. She needs to know where he lives, what bars he frequents, where he works, what he works in. She needs to know everything so she can avoid him successfully. If he looks anything like he used to eight years ago, she does not need him anywhere near her in the state she’s in.  
“I don’t know. A couple of months ago, probably, David said he looked pretty at ease with the subway system to have just moved in.”  
“This is ridiculous. Why is he here?”  
“Emma why don’t you ask him yourself? David and I are going to dinner tonight, you’re more than welcome to come with.”  
“Are you insane? Really, are you? Because you sound insane.” Emma snaps.  
“Emma, it was eight years ago. It was a fling that you had when you studied abroad. Plus, I think he’s married. Why are you freaking out?”  
“He’s married?” Emma doesn’t know why the piece of information makes her heart sink down to her stomach. It’s not like she’s available either. “And I’m not freaking out.”  
“I can’t remember if he just got married or if he just got divorced. Something happened not so long ago, David said.” Mary Margaret says nonchalantly, stabbing her Cobb salad with her fork and a shrug of her shoulders. “And you’re absolutely freaking out.”  
“That’s quite the difference.” Emma says matter-of-factly.  
“Are you coming tonight? David said he asked about you.” Mary Margaret continues.  
“I don’t care if he asked or not! I’m not going. I have no interest of seeing the man I thought I was in love with and then lost contact with all too easily. I have no desire to see him, ever.” Emma answers defiantly.  
“Well you’re shit out of luck then. He’s coming to the wedding.”  
“WHAT. No! No. Nope. No. Why? No. Just no.”  
“Emma, don’t start. It’s my wedding, I can invite whomever I please.”  
“I’d rather you invite Cora, the crazy girl in our floor from sophomore year.” Emma whined.  
“Emma, Killian is going to the wedding. He already RSVP’d. He’s going.” Their lunch ends sourly. Not that it’s any damage to their relationship, Mary Margaret knows just how grumpy Emma can get. They part ways when the subway stops at Madison Avenue and Emma gets out on her way back to work.  
***  
Emma arrives at her empty apartment at a quarter to six later that evening, her mind still reeling about her conversation with Mary Margaret. She’s going to see Killian for the first time in exactly three months and twenty-five days if she manages to avoid him till the wedding. She doesn’t really know why she’s freaking out about him being in town. If anything, she decides, she’s worried about what he’ll think about her drastic life change. She’s nothing like the girl he met eight years ago in Dublin. She decides that that’s what she’s afraid of, as a way of coping with the fact that she hates that she’s nothing like the happy, carefree, person she was eight years ago like she wishes she could be.  
Dropping off her bag at the foot of her bed, she slips off her shoes and undoes the zipper of her white pencil skirt. She proceeds to continue with her afternoon routine: she takes a shower, heats up leftovers, pops open a bottle of wine, and watches the evening news. After she finishes she decides to do something different other than getting drunk watching TV. She stands and looks in her and Walsh’s record collection and pulls out her favorite Janis Joplin. Soon, psychedelic guitar riffs and Joplin’s soulful voice fills up the entire apartment. Taking sips of her wine (White Zinfandel today) she starts to sway to the rhythm, the music taking her back to that year in Dublin.  
She walks back to her room and further back to her closet, standing and swaying on top of a little stool she reaches the weathered wooden trunk where she stores all her old keepsakes. She finds the old photo album she was looking for and makes her way back to her living room. Sitting on the floor, Emma pours herself more wine and opens up the album. Looking through the pictures, she smiles despite herself.  
There are pictures of everything. She sees pictures of her, Mary Margaret, and David at the airport, on the airplane, prank pictures of them asleep. She laughs along with their past selves. There are quintessential pictures of trying Guinness, and one of Mary Margaret gagging over black pudding. Emma laughs again, memories flooding back to her. And then suddenly, there’s Killian smiling up at her from the album, stopping her dead in her tracks. He’s in basically every picture in the rest of the album. Looking at her, kissing her, making her laugh, posing with her in leather jackets.  
She stands up and runs back to her closet, sifting through each and every article of clothing. There’s beige after beige, white after white, navy, black, solid sensible colors that the personal shopper Walsh suggested to Emma had arranged for her. She can’t find it. She goes straight to the back, clamped, dusty part of her closet, praying against hope that there’s where it would be, and it is. It’s old, dusty, and cramped because of being pressed up against the wall for a couple of years, but it’s there. The red leather jacket that she bought in Dublin, her style staple for the years following studying abroad.  
She slips it on, knowing that even though it’s a little too tight right now, once it’s aired out it will fit as well as it used to. She walks back to her living room with the jacket on and sits back down. She had left the album open on a picture of herself, Mary Margaret, David, and Killian in O’Donoghues, their favorite Dublin pub. Emma remembers that night perfectly. That was the night she and Killian kissed for the first time. The rest was history after that night. She shuts the album closed and shakes her head to rid herself of thoughts of Killian and their year in Ireland. She wakes up next to Walsh the next morning, his arms draped across her belly and their legs intertwined with each other’s. This was real. Walsh was her husband, and no ex-boyfriend returned from the grave was going to diminish the love she had promised Walsh on their wedding day.


	3. Chapter 2

Emma walks into her apartment at a six thirty in the afternoon, three months and twenty-two days later. Tired from a long day’s work and a horridly long commute, she slips off her shoes and automatically starts to go through her afternoon routine. Eyes closed, she pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs her temples to try to get rid of the headache that has been plaguing her all afternoon.  
“Honey!” Walsh’s energetic voice snaps her out of her reverie and startles her, making her bump into the island in the kitchen.  
“Walsh!” she says breathless, right hand clutching at her chest, left hand rubbing the spot on her hip that she bumped against the island. “You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing here?” She doesn’t mean to sound accusatory but let’s be honest; he hasn’t been home before her in more than a year.  
“Well, you know, I kind of live here.” He says sarcastically.  
Hardly, Emma thinks.  
“No, I mean, what are you doing here so early?” She says rummaging through their kitchen for some ibuprofen.   
“I got off work early. Plus, I wanted to take you out for dinner, we haven’t done that in a while.” He smiles brightly at her, but his smile falters when he sees her knit her eyebrows together and bite her lip. “What?” he asks.  
“Nothing, I just kind of wanted an early night tonight.”  
“Hon, it’s just dinner.” He stares at her, hopeful. “C’mon Emma, l want to make it up to you.”  
“Make what up to me?” she asks, fully knowing what he’s going to say.  
“Emma, I’m not going to deny it. I’ve been working day in and day out. I know I’ve been a complete asshole. I’ve been MIA for months and I haven’t been the husband you deserve. I want to take you out on a date, it’s the least I can do for working so much. C’mon baby. I miss you.”  
“Alright, alright. Stop groveling and let me go change.” she says, smiling despite herself.   
***  
They arrived at Ai Fiori just in time for they’re seven thirty reservation. Emma had to handle it to Walsh, she did love this restaurant. She never went to it without him though, the salads started at $16 and the main entrees started above $30. Emma and her friends preferred Granny’s to anything, but if Walsh was willing to pay for this decadent Italian restaurant (and he was), she wasn’t about to say no.  
“Get whatever you want, hon.” He smiles widely at her.  
Emma decides on the Astice, butter poached Nova Scotia lobster accompanied by glazed root vegetables, nebrodini mushrooms drizzled in a chateau chalon sauce. Emma didn’t know, nor did she care, what nebrodini mushrooms were or what a chateau chalon sauce meant, but it was a forty-dollar lobster plate, and that to her was apology enough. Walsh settled on the pork loin with gnocchi and fennel a la grecque.   
When they’re halfway done with their meal, Walsh speaks up.  
“I’ve got some exciting news!”   
“Yeah? What is it?” Emma raises her eyebrows at him.  
“I’m going to Washington this weekend, and you’re coming with me.” He starts and as he’s about to continue Emma cuts him off.  
“Walsh, Mary Margaret and David are getting married this weekend.” He looks at her and cocks an eyebrow.  
“No, that’s next weekend.” He says brushing her off.  
“No. I’ve been helping her plan it for almost eight months now. It’s this weekend.” Emma replies forcefully.  
“Well, you’re just going to have to miss it because we have to go to D.C. tomorrow.” Anger rapidly starts coursing through Emma’s entire body.   
“I am not missing my best friend’s wedding! Especially not when I’m the maid of honor, Walsh. Why do we have to be in D.C.?” She hisses.  
“Emma, the campaign starts on Monday. I need to be down there and start getting ready with my wife by my side. You’re in PR, you should know this.” He replies calmly, a stoic smile placed firmly in his face.  
“First of all, I am in marketing and second of all, why are you campaigning when there’s two years left till elections?” She’s grabbing her fork and knife so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.   
“Emma,” he starts looking at her incredulously as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t know, “I’m running for senator in Congress.”   
Emma feels like the floor opened up under her. If he gets elected to Congress that means that she’ll have to go with him and live in D.C. and while she has nothing against the capitol, she doesn’t want to leave her life in New York.   
“Is that what you’ve been doing all these months? Planning a campaign?” she asks furiously.   
“Emma, don’t make a scene.” He replies quietly, but his voice is stern, reprimanding, and authoritative.   
“Oh, is this why you chose to tell me in a public restaurant, so I wouldn’t make a scene?” Emma asks hotly.  
“No, Emma, I just wanted to make conversation. Big things are happening to me, to us. You’re my wife, naturally I want to tell you where our lives are headed.” He sighs.  
“Well, as your wife, don’t you think it’s also natural to consider my opinion on your decision to run for Congress? I don’t want to move to Washington, Walsh.”  
“Emma this isn’t up for discussion. The wheels have been set in motion and the campaign starts on Monday. I cannot go back on this.”   
“Walsh, this is my life. Mary Margaret and David are my family and you want me to just walk out on them? You want me to walk out on my job, the job I got on my own and worked incredibly hard for? How is this fair of you to just spring it on me?” At this point Emma has been twirling her rings incredibly fast, anxiety seeping in through every pore.   
“Emma, I think you’re being incredibly selfish.” Walsh says quietly.  
“I’m being selfish?”  
“Yes.” He replies simply.  
“You’re telling me that you’ve been hiding an entire political campaign that you’ve been working on for more than six months from me. You want me to miss my best friends’ wedding so you can take pictures and start a campaign for a job you might not even get. Also, if you get said job, you want me to move somewhere else, start over and leave the job I love so you can get the job of your dreams. And telling you that I don’t want to do any of those things makes me selfish? This is ridiculous, I’m going home.” Emma stands up and forcefully puts down her napkin on the table.  
The muggy June air hits her as she stands outside of the restaurant. Drawing a deep breath she extends an arm to hail a taxi and makes her way home. Walsh has been texting her nonstop since the moment she got in the cab and she has been ignoring the messages pointedly. When she arrives at her apartment it’s as if she’s on autopilot, she goes straight to her closet and takes out a suitcase and starts packing for her trip tomorrow. Mary Margaret and David’s wedding is up in Mary Margaret’s parent’s old summer estate in a sleepy town in Maine and Emma is scheduled to take the very first train out there.   
Tears are blurring her vision, threatening to fall, as she keeps packing and getting all her belongings in order. She just couldn’t believe anything that just happened. She doesn’t even want to think about the possibility of leaving New York, of leaving Mary Margaret, David, and her work. These were all the things that made her Emma. They’ve defined her for at least a decade. Mary Margaret has been almost like a mother to her, she’s been her family ever since she started college. She spent what she likes to call her “First Thanksgiving” with Mary Margaret’s family up in Maine. She spent her summers there, relaxing by the New England Sea, working with Mary Margaret as counselors of a summer camp held in the state park. And David, if Mary Margaret was like a mother and a sister, David was definitely a father and a brother. Emma was always a bit of a tomboy, so she got along with David at first better than Mary Margaret. He was so protective over her. They both mean the world to Emma and now Walsh wants her to pack up her things and move, no questions asked?   
Emma doesn’t know when she falls asleep but it feels as if the second she closed her eyes her alarm went off. Lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, everything is foggy around her. She turns around and doesn’t see Walsh next to her and for the first time she feels a wave of relief wash over her. She knows that’s not a good feeling to have when it comes to your husband, but at this moment she’s still too furious to care about her dwindling feelings for her husband.  
She makes her way to Grand Central Station two coffees and an hour and a half later. She’s early, so she sits in the bench in the station and opens up a newspaper. Emma is now on her third cup of coffee, resigned to the fact that nothing is waking her up today. Finally, the train arrives and she hops on, finding her seat near the window. Slipping in her earphones and pressing play on her phone’s music player, her eyes close almost instantly, the hum of the wheels on the track willing her to sleep again. She’s only half asleep and doesn’t know how long she’s been on the train by now. Her eyes are accustomed to the light flickering on her closed eyelids due to the scenery change outside of her window and Emma wishes she wasn’t so terrible at being able to sleep while travelling. She decides to focus on steadying her breath, almost meditating, in order to fall asleep faster, but her mind is still running a mile a minute with the altercations with Walsh right now. She wishes she could just quiet her mind, stop time for two seconds, and sleep. A light tap on her shoulder interrupts her intentions, however. When green eyes open they meet a pair of piercing familiar blue ones, slowing time to a screeching halt.  
“Swan.”


	4. Chapter 3

Unbelievable, Emma thought. Un-fucking-belivable. It took her two seconds to regain her composure, chastise her stomach for doing an unrecognizable and, not to mention, unwelcome flip, to return Killian Jones’s smile. She had rather hoped to see him at the reception, —note that she just wanted to see him and thoroughly avoid him—where she at least had the help of a gorgeous floor length gown and two tons of makeup on her face. She envisioned that that getup would end up making a much more lasting impression than the one she currently wore, that of yoga pants, oversized sweater, and topped off with what she very well presumes is a sliver of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.   
“Killian.” She says simply, his name rolling off her tongue in an all too familiar way. At the mention of his name his smile grows even wider, if possible.   
“I’m sorry I woke you.” He says, his accent enveloping every word. God, she used to melt whenever he talked to her. “I just had to say hi.”  
Actually, she thinks, it’s still divine.   
“Don’t worry about it.” She wants to ask him to sit, she also wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole, and jumping out the window isn’t a terrible option either.   
“Is someone sitting with you or may I?” he gestures at the seat in front of her.  
“Go for it.” Why? Why Emma, why?  
He smiles at her again. This is so awkward. She thought if she ever met him again she would be so suave, you know? Her hair would be blowing in the wind; she’d be walking in slow motion, laughing while throwing her head back, and she’d have sparkling green eyes with a mischievous glint in them. She thought he’d be so taken aback by her breathtaking beauty and confidence that he’d wonder, oh would he wonder, why he ever let her go. There might have been some serious karaoke involved in this fantasy, but she’d rather not go into details. However, she’s far from being anything like the Emma in her fantasy. He smiles, so she smiles back. She’s basically half mute, and half scared to death.   
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Killian starts, a devilish smirk gracing his face. Emma can’t decide if he’s changed so much or if he hasn’t at all. He’s clean shaven and he dresses better, that’s for sure, but his eyes are still as striking and he seems just as snarky. She guesses that his jawline is definitely stronger and he’s filled out in all the right places, she can tell because he’s wearing dark wash jeans and a navy blue fitted t-shirt. His hair is still the same jet-black but it’s slicked back now and slightly faded on the sides.   
“I have not.” Emma defends herself, half a smile gracing her lips.   
“If you’re anything like the Emma Swan I knew when I was a lad, then you’ve definitely been avoiding me.” He smirks at her.  
“I’ve been busy.” She replies nervously, failing miserably at swerving out of the topic.  
“Well so have I, but I was still willing to hang out! There’s nothing wrong in catching up, love.” At the mention of the pet name her stomach does that unruly flip again, making her squirm in her seat.  
“I was nervous.” She says finally, looking up through her eyelashes.  
“About what? C’mon, love. We were friends before being lovers, we can be friends again.” He says sincerely.   
“I don’t know what I was nervous about, I just was.” She shakes her head and twirls her rings underneath the table.   
“Well, in any case, you still owe me a pint.” He says simply, grinning at her.  
“I owe you a pint?” She scoffs.  
“Of course you do, you skipped at least seven dinner invitations at the Charming’s’ just to avoid me. The very least you can do is have a drink with me.” She laughs at the mention of the Charming’s, their old nickname for Mary Margaret and David. They absolutely hated it at first, but the name stuck while they were abroad.   
They talk for most of the trip, catching up and poking fun at each other. Emma feels carefree and lighter than she has in weeks. Killian tells her he works in advertising, and is assistant creative director at a small advertising firm. He says that the company he works at is probably going to be part of a large merger in the upcoming weeks so he doesn’t know what’s going to happen with his job yet. He also hasn’t stopped smiling since he saw her, and Emma thinks that neither has she. For someone who hasn’t felt like she hasn’t had reason to smile in almost a year, she certainly doesn’t feel the strain of her face splitting in half due to smiling too much. For the first time in weeks, probably even months, smiling feels natural.  
His attention catches sight of her right ring finger when she goes to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears.  
“Congratulations on that, by the way.” He says pointing at her rings. Emma doesn’t know why, but she feels guilty for even wearing them.  
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She hopes her feigned joy sounds legitimate.  
“How long?” He asks, nonchalant.  
“Three years next October.” She replies as if she didn’t feel incredibly awkward to be having this conversation with her first love.  
“David said his name is Walter? What does he do?” Emma can’t decide if he is genuinely intrigued or if he’s a fantastic actor.  
“Walsh. He’s a state senator.” She doesn’t want to talk about Walsh to Killian. She doesn’t want to talk about Walsh period.  
“Oh wow. Fancy.” He replies with a smile and a pair of raised eyebrows.  
“Yeah, pretty fancy.”  
“So you pretty much have to be on your best behavior, then?” He winks at her and she feels like stabbing the fluttering thing in her stomach immediately.  
“Something like that.” She says instead, rolling her eyes at him. He smiles at her and stays quiet. They’re nearing Maine and should be arriving at Portland soon. Emma looks outside her window for what seems like an eternity, her eyes unfocused on the changing scenery, her mind racing but not really dwelling on any particular thing.  
“Are you happy?” Killian says seriously after a while. She snaps her attention back at him and finds him looking intently in her direction. His blue eyes intensely locked on her green ones.  
“In general or with Walsh?” she asks.  
“Both.” He replies.  
No. I’m not. She wants to answer.  
“Yes, absolutely.” She replies instead.  
“Then that makes me happy.” He tells her, a genuine smile directed at her.  
***  
After they get off the train and David picks both up, Emma and Killian rarely see each other for most of the day until the actual ceremony. They had arrived in Portland at 8:15 in the morning and the drive to Storybrooke took another half an hour. The ceremony wasn’t until four. Emma spent most of the day finalizing details, making sure Mary Margaret didn’t have a panic attack, and getting ready. The day itself was kind of a blur, just like most important life events tend to go. She didn’t have time to think about Killian, nor about Walsh.  
The ceremony starts promptly at four o’clock. The weather in Storybrooke is crisp and breezy, ever different than the stifling heat of New York during the summer. The ceremony and the reception are to be held in the lavish backyard of Mary Margaret’s parents’ estate. Emma and Killian are both staying at the house, which has always been massive in size and white in color with blue-grey tiles on the roof and deep blue painted shutters beside every window. In the distance, you can see a dock with a sailboat tied to it, the New England waters sloshing quietly against the shore. The backyard is full of large oak and maple trees, providing shade for the guests. Emma glides down the aisle after a throng of bridesmaids and groomsmen has gone before her. She’s wearing a rose blush floor-length gown. The dress has a sweetheart neckline and flower buds sewn into the chiffon skirt, similar to those on Mary Margaret’s own wedding dress. Emma wears her long blonde hair down, pinned with a gold sparkly barrette on her left side and parted to the right in long loose curls.   
She felt Killian’s eyes on her the entire ceremony. She even glanced his way a couple of times and found him either grinning brightly at her or averting his gaze away from her a millisecond too late. She felt giddy, heat radiating from her stomach every time this happened. Deep down she knew it was wrong. She was a married woman, after all. However, she didn’t think there was anything horrible about the exchange granted that she didn’t act on it, and she didn’t plan to.  
Killian comes up to her midway through the reception, after all the speeches have been made and all the important dances have happened. She’s sitting in the bridal party table, looking down at her phone reading all the messages that Walsh has sent her. He wants to talk to her, make things right or so he says. She wishes she could throw her phone off the dock.  
“Swan, get up and dance with me.” He demands, offering her his hand.  
“Killian, you know I don’t dance.” She answers him simply, a small smile tugging at her lips.  
“Then have a drink with me, I won’t have you moping sitting at an almost empty table. If you won’t come willingly, I’ll guilt trip you by reminding you that you owe me a drink.” He rests his hands on the table and inches forward, grinning widely.  
“It’s an open bar. I don’t think I’d be fulfilling what I owe you.” At this he rolls his eyes at her and she responds with a bright smile and raised eyebrows.  
“Even better. This way reconnecting comes at no expense to either of us, just at the Charmings’. He winks at her and takes her hand in his, guides her up and around the table, finally placing his hand in the center of her back, pushing her lightly towards the bar.  
They devised a plan to have Emma charm the bartender as Killian snuck around the back and smuggled out some cases of beer. You know, so they wouldn’t have to go back. Once they were successful, Emma wrapped up the conversation and met Killian at the dock. He received her with an open bottle for her and one for him. With each sip of the bitter liquid, Emma felt herself loosen up. She even started swaying to the music that was playing from the dance floor, causing Killian to laugh at her expense.  
“You know, Swan, you haven’t changed a bit.” He tells her, hand reaching towards hers to hand her the bottle opener as she went for her second bottle.   
“I’ve mellowed out.” She tells him, lifting up the cap and taking a swig out of the bottle.   
“Naturally, as have I.” He nods and finishes his bottle. Emma tries not to stare at his butt as he bends over to get another bottle.  
“I’m kind of boring now actually.” She tells him cocking her head sideways, staring at him. She’s starting to feel the familiar fuzziness come over her senses as the alcohol starts to seep into her bloodstream.   
He turns towards her and looks at her quizzically. Giving her half a smile, he walks closes the distance between them and drapes his free arm around her waist, swaying slightly.  
“Now I don’t believe that for a second, Swan.” He says seriously.  
“What are you doing?” she asks him, pressing the top of the bottle to her lips.  
“Dancing with you.” He shrugs and raises his hand towards her face, holding the bottle with two fingers and brushing back the hair on her forehead.  
“Oh.” She doesn’t know if it’s because of the alcohol or if it’s him but Emma is definitely in a daze.  
“Is that okay?” he asks her sincerely, blue eyes wide and piercing.  
“Absolutely.” She says quietly and starts swaying with him.  
“Why do you think you’re boring?” he continues.  
“I just…am. I’m not the girl you used to know, I guess.” She mumbles, resting her head on his chest.  
“Is that why you were avoiding me?” he asks quietly.  
“What do you mean?”  
“You said you were nervous of seeing me. Was it because you thought I’d think you were boring?” How does he do that? Emma wondered. He always did that. Killian had the knack to read her like a book but he was always a complete mystery to her. Here they were eight years later and he was able to read her emotions and replay them back at her just by intuition.  
“I was more worried that you’d see how much I had changed and you’d realize how lucky you were that things ended the way they did.” Emma bites her lip, not being able to believe that she let herself open up to him just like that, right off the bat.  
“Emma, you haven’t changed. Whoever you think you’ve lost…she’s still there. I still see her, your friends still see her, and your husband probably still sees her too.”  
At the mention of Walsh she stops dancing and lets go of Killian. It was like a bucket full of iced water was thrown over her. She quickly walks over to the cases and pulls out another bottle. Slipping off her shoes, she sits down on the edge of the dock. She turns to him and gives him a small smile as he sits down next to her.  
“Are you okay?” he asks.  
“I’m not happy.”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“No, it’s not you. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this” she sighs, “It’s my marriage.” She says hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on her knees.  
“Oh…trouble in paradise?” She glares at him then, forcing him to apologize quickly.  
And so she tells him everything, beginning from where things started to head south till last night’s fight. Two beer bottles later, Emma starts feeling pretty drunk and she has a feeling that Killian is in the same boat as she. He’s been trying to make her laugh after she told him her sad little tale. Killian has just been talking and talking, telling her stories about his life and times after the year abroad. He tells her the crazy antics that he got into after returning to school at the University of St. Andrews and he tells her how horrible he felt after they lost contact. Every time he looks at her he grins widely, making her stomach flip. The heat that has been radiating from her stomach has been intensified over time, she feels so comfortable around him. And she can’t deny it anymore; she’s attracted to him.   
“God, what happened to us?” she slurs once a comfortable silence engulfs them.  
“I know. We were so good together.” He says back, chuckling slightly.  
“I was crazy about you.” Emma admits as she feels him inching closer to her, her shoulder slightly grazing his upper arm. She looks up at him only to find him staring down at her.  
“And I you.” he breathes.  
“Sometimes, I wish I could go back. I felt so alive back then.” There’s electricity in the air and is unmistakable. Emma feels like she’s about to fall off into an abyss, she’s scared to death but also incredibly ready to jump at the same time.  
“What about right now?” he asks her softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  
“Like…right now, right now?” She breathes, sneaking a look at his lips.  
“Aye.” He says staring back at her green eyes.  
“I feel pretty alive right now too.” She concedes.  
“So do I.” He says before she closes the distance between them and presses her lips against his and Killian is kissing her right back.


	5. Chapter 4

The kiss starts slow and tentative, both of them testing the waters with each other. Common sense and propriety are thrown away to the wind, what matters is what’s happening right now. Emma pulls Killian closer by his lapels, his hand tangled with the hair at the base of her neck and the other one cupping her cheek. Emma doesn’t know who starts it but suddenly the kiss gets desperate and hungry, teeth gnashing with each other’s, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths. Emma swears she’ll die the second he bites down on her lower lip and tugs on it, grinning at her drunkenly when he does it.   
Emma needs things to move faster, she hasn’t felt this wanted in ages. She places her hand on his thigh and runs it up and down softly, loving the fact that when she reaches around his zipper she can tell just how bad he wants her too. With every second that his lips are on hers, Emma feels like she’s waking up from an eternal sleep she didn’t even know she was in. Every part of her skin feels like its on fire, she wants more. She needs more.  
“Emma…”he groans as she starts to trail kisses along his jaw.  
“Mmhmm?” she mumbles back to him, reaching his earlobe and nibbling at it.  
“I want you.” He says darkly, his voice dripping with lust. She meets his eyes and tries desperately to focus her surroundings and she expects he’s doing the same.  
“So have me.” She says, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.  
Emma feels like she travelled across the reception area in two seconds, she spent most of the time trying to regain her composure. You are not drunk, she thinks, just glide and no one will be able to tell. Many of the guests had gone but there were still a few stragglers. She didn’t remember seeing Mary Margaret or David, so she must have missed their grand exit. She told Killian she’d meet him in his room, but part of her wishes she had just walked to the room with him that way she would have someone to help her keep her balance. She almost fell up the stairs, she really does not remember the last time she was this drunk. Once she reaches his room she goes to give a light knock on the door but Killian opens it almost at the same time her knuckles reach the wood. She stumbles a little on the way in but he steadies her.   
Still grabbing her by her upper arms, he gives her a blazing look and immediately kisses her again. Her arms quickly wrap themselves around his neck and she moans into his mouth. Heat is radiating from her stomach again, filling every inch of her with desire. Killian’s hands find the zipper on the back of her dress and quickly undo it, making her dress fall to the floor in a pool around her ankles.   
“You’ve got goose bumps, Swan. Are you sure you want this?” His hot breath is tickling her ear and the last thing Emma wants is for his hands to be anywhere but on her. His touch makes her feel wanted.   
He’s making her feel alive.  
“Shut up and kiss me.” She says pulling him back to kiss her by his collar. He grins into the kiss and she grins back into it. Her hands are fumbling with his shirt buttons but finally it’s off, exposing his chest. He hisses as she lightly drags her nails down his chest and stomach. She smiles up at him and places her lips on the side of his neck.   
Hands still on his chest, Emma pushes Killian back until the back of his knees touch the bed and he lets himself fall on top of it. Everything starts happening then, whatever is left of their clothing is off and strewn across the room in seconds. Killian has pulled her with him in bed and is kissing every inch of her exposed skin. He starts at her lips and makes his way down, kissing her neck and sucking on her collarbone. Emma’s breath hitches when his lips make way over her exposed breasts. His warm mouth feels wonderful and when he bites down on her nipple Emma lets out a moan that makes Killian look up at her and chuckle, clearly proud of his work. He continues trailing kisses down her body, grinning before kissing her hipbone. Emma starts squirming instantly, her ticklish spot reacting to him just like it used to eight years ago. She starts to beg him not to kiss her there and tries to move out his head off but he takes her hands and pins them to the side, keeping at it.   
“Killian, please.” She breathes, a ghost of a laugh on her face.  
“What do you want, Swan? Tell me what you want.” His eyes are dark, full of lust. He’s kneeling on top of her, swaying slightly, just as drunk and mesmerized as she is.  
“You.”   
That was all he needed. In a second Killian parted her legs and slid inside her. Emma felt the familiar fullness take over her. If she thought her body was waking up to his touch earlier, it’s definitely awake now. Killian stays still for a few seconds, savoring the moment just as much as she is, then he starts to move. And boy, does he move. He takes her legs and props them up, making her hug his torso with them. He’s moving so deep inside her, making her feel fantastic. He tells her to kiss him, and she complies relishing in the feeling of being so incredibly wanted. She feels herself being close to the edge, her orgasm right there practically in her grasp. She reaches down in the spot between them and helps herself get there faster, her fingers having reached her clit, the pressure making her want to scream out. Killian smiles down at her and tells her how sexy that is. They are so connected, it’s as if the last eight years hadn’t happened. She’s close now, so close.   
Fuck, fuck, fuck.   
And suddenly, sweet release. She feels her orgasm all throughout her entire body. She pulls Killian closer and drags her nails on his back. Her orgasm was enough to bring him to his edge. He thrusts one more time, two more times, her name a prayer on his lips, and finally, with a moan, he stills on top of her.   
Killian rolls off of her and lies on his back, beads of sweat on his forehead. He mumbles something about it being incredible and takes her hand in his and presses his lips to the back of it. Emma has been in a daze since she came, eyes heavy and the world fogging up all around her. Inebriation, exhaustion, and bliss take their toll on her, dragging her to sleep.  
***

The sun shines brightly the next morning, rays hitting Emma square in the face. Her eyelids flutter open and she’s met with an excruciatingly painful headache, a room that’s not her own, and an arm draped across her bare stomach.   
Oh, no.  
Emma is terrified of turning sideways and facing the mistake she made last night. She doesn’t even remember anything after sitting in the dock with Killian.   
Please God, no.   
Emma finally resolves to turn around and finds her worst fears confirmed. There is no doubt in her mind that she had sex with Killian, that she was unfaithful.   
She gives a frightful yelp.  
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God! What did I do?” Killian opens his eyes and sees Emma covering her face with the sheet, almost willing herself to believe that if she couldn’t see it, it didn’t happen.   
Killian’s eyes open wide. It’s nice to know that she’s not the only one with little recollection of last night.  
“We didn’t.” he says, clearly just as shocked as she is.  
“We must’ve. I don’t know about you but I’m completely naked, Killian.” He lifts his side of the sheet and takes a peek underneath it.  
“Aye, we did.” He resolves, letting his head drop back into the feather pillow in disbelief.  
“I have to go. This didn’t happen.” Suddenly Emma springs off the bed, using the sheet to cover herself up before looking for her items of her clothing thrown everywhere around the room.  
“No, Emma! Please stay. It happened…for a reason, love.” Killian is much less modest. He gets off the bed in all his buff glory and slips on some boxers and starts walking to her.   
“Don’t call me that! This was a drunken mistake and it didn’t mean anything.” She says as she angrily snatches her bra off his hands and slips it on.   
“Emma, you can’t just walk away from this.” He tells her while he slips on a dark t-shirt and buttons up his jeans.  
“Watch me.” She retorts defiantly, shimmying back into her dress.  
“Emma, please. Be reasonable.” He pleads.  
“I am being reasonable, Killian. I’m married. I was weak last night, you said all the right things and I fell right into it. I’m not saying I’m not at fault. I made a mistake and I admit it. Now, I’d like to forget about this whole thing. Okay?” Emma just wants to get out of this room as fast as she possibly can. Ever the runner and the avoider, she wants to put this entire disaster out of her mind. Out of sight, out of mind.  
“As you wish.” He mumbles, before she heads out of his room, closing the door loudly.  
***  
Emma quickly arrives at her room without being seen and locks the door behind her. Two seconds later she plops down on the floor and hugs her knees closer to her, her face buried in them. Why did she do that? Why? Why did she have to sleep with Killian of all people?   
She sighs and wishes she didn’t feel like her life was spiraling out of control. Was she going to confess what she did to Walsh? Was she going to feel okay with keeping it a secret from him and go on with life as if nothing ever happened? Was she going to see Killian again? And if she did, was she going to be able to resist any and every temptation and give friendship a chance? All these questions keep running through her mind on repeat as she takes a shower, as she gets dressed, and as she heads down to meet the Charming’s’ for brunch before heading back to New York.  
She’s late and met by a glowing Mary Margaret and David, the ever sophisticated Eva and Leopold, and Killian. Of course, the only seat left is right in front of him.  
“Did you two have a nice night last night?” Mary Margaret asks brightly.   
“What? Why?” Emma responds a bit too harshly and a bit too flustered.  
“Because it was our wedding?” Sipping on what’s left of her mimosa, Mary Margaret laughs and shakes her head at her.  
“Oh, yeah.” Emma bites her lips, hoping she didn’t give anything away.  
“I’m afraid Swan and I are still recovering from last night’s bar service.” They laugh while Killian continues to charm them. Emma knows she should feel thankful for Killian saving her like that, but instead she decides to sulk lower in her seat. He looks at her and gives her a small smile, testing the waters. She looks away disinterested, pretending that his smile didn’t cause a familiar heat to start radiating from her stomach.  
***

Around three-thirty in the afternoon, Emma is finally on her way back to New York. Killian has been courteous enough to not sit next to her, giving her the space she had previously asked for. She’s been listening to music the entire ride, anything to keep her from thinking about the memories that were resurfacing from last night. She didn’t want to remember how amazing his kisses were, how he pinned her arms above her head and moved inside of her. She stole so many glances during the trip and he even met her gaze a couple of times.   
When the train starts slowing down she sees Killian make his way towards her. He raises his hand up to stop her as she frantically starts shaking her head at him.   
Do not come over. I do not want to talk to you. Emma averts her gaze and looks towards the window.  
“Swan, stop. Now, you do not have to talk to me but at least look at me.” He says, his voice strong, commanding attention.  
Emma doesn’t say anything and just looks at him.  
“I just wanted to tell you, about last night. I do not regret it. Not one bit. Now, I know that you never want to talk about it again and I understand. But I know, that deep down, you don’t regret it either and you owe it to yourself to be happy.”   
By that time the train had stopped and they had arrived at New York. Killian turned away from her and exited the train while she sat in a stunned silence. On her way home, Emma’s mind raced a mile a minute and deep down she knew that Killian was right. All questions aside, Emma did not regret last night at all.


	6. Chapter 5

2006

It’s a chilly October night in Dublin and Emma, Mary Margaret, and David are out at a Halloween themed party held by one of their classmates. It was a last minute invite and Mary Margaret basically coerced Emma into her costume. She was dressed as Tinkerbell and she hated every aspect of it. Except the wings, Emma rather liked the wings.  
“He won’t stop looking at you, Em!” Mary Margaret says excitedly, smiling at Emma over her red cup. She was talking about Killian or William. Frankly, Emma still hadn’t been able to catch his name correctly. He’s another student in the Study Abroad program. Emma can accept the fact that he’s attractive, extremely so. His hair jet-black, eyes a piercing light blue with a mischievous glint in them, taller than Emma, and had an accent that made all of the female, and some male, American abroad students melt. Emma sneaks a look at him and he winks back at her, making Emma whip her head away from him and towards the conversation.  
“He should. He’s making me uncomfortable. I hate this stupid costume.” She was never one for frills growing up, and the bright green petticoat under her matching lime-green tutu was bringing her over to the edge of murdering someone.  
“Oh, come on! He’s so cute. You should go talk to him and stop it you look adorable.” Emma shakes her head and downs the rest of the orange juice and vodka she was drinking in one gulp.  
“David, tell your girlfriend to be quiet.” Emma knew she’d get Mary Margaret to shut up (or at least quit bothering her) once she said this. David and Mary Margaret weren’t dating, but it was obvious that they held some feelings for each other.   
“Emma for the last time we’re not dating, the ever lovely Kathryn is waiting for her prince charming back in New York.” Kathryn was David’s current girlfriend and she was not happy that he was over here in Dublin with Mary Margaret and Emma. In fact, every night David had to spend exactly ten minute’s worth of roaming cellular cost talking to Kathryn and ensuring his affection for her while denying his ever-growing love for Mary Margaret. David is silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with their exchange. Emma can tell that he’s growing restless and tired of Kathryn and that one of these days she’s getting the cut.   
“I’m going to get another drink. Do you guys want anything?” Emma says changing topics.   
“Oh, get me one of these jungle juice thingies!” Mary Margaret perks up. Emma warns her to be careful with those, knowing that Mary Margaret was close to her inebriation limit, but Mary Margaret just shook her head and waved her arms at her, telling her that she’s fine and that she can take care of herself.   
The drink table is crowded and it takes Emma a couple of minutes to reach the front of it. When she does, the same piercing blue eyes that were staring at her earlier meet her.  
“What can I get you, love?” he asks her, a snarky smile gracing his face.  
“Nothing I can’t get myself.” Emma responds, bending to get a beer and another red cup of the pink colored alcohol concoction that Mary Margaret is drinking.  
“I’m receiving some very hostile vibes from you, Tinkerbell.” He tells her, incredibly amused.  
“You’re very intuitive. Congratulations.” Emma’s voice drips with sarcasm.  
“Well if I can’t get you a drink, can I at least know your name?” She looks up and meets his intense gaze. She feels her breath hitch and is taken back by how close his face is to hers.   
“Maybe.” She says with a sniff, pushing up her thick glasses up to the bridge of her nose.  
“Maybe? How can I persuade that ‘maybe’ to turn into a ‘yes’?” He’s coy, rounding around the table and standing closer to her. With his hook, he pushes back a strand of hair behind her ear.  
“You can’t. I was taught not to give my name to strange men I haven’t met.” Emma tells him simply, rolling her eyes and stepping away from him.  
“Oh, well if meeting me is the case. The name is Killian Jones, but most people tonight have taken to call me by my more colorful moniker—Hook.” He responds, waving the fake hook coming out of his left sleeve at her. This makes Emma smile slightly.   
“A name, just a name, Tinkerbell.” He pleads loudly as she makes to turn away from the table and walk back to David and Mary Margaret.  
“Emma.” She tells him, a small smile on her face, “Emma Swan.”   
She turns her back to him and starts to make her way over to Mary Margaret and David.  
“You’re beautiful, Emma Swan.” He calls after her.  
“I’m smart, too.” She responds cheekily and walks away from him, shaking her head, leaving a stunned Killian standing with a lopsided grin on his face.  
Emma walks back to find David gone and Mary Margaret being chatted up by a tall, dirty blonde guy in pants that are definitely too tight for him. When Emma approaches, Mary Margaret completely disregards the fact that the guy was in the middle of a sentence and goes up to her.   
“Finally! What took you so long?”  
“Just got caught up at the table. Where’s David?”  
“Out talking with his Ice Queen.” Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and takes a sip. She motions to somewhere behind Emma and gives Emma a knowing grin.  
“So, how was talking with your sexy pirate?” Mary Margaret asks, a giddy grin smiling up at Emma.  
“So, how was telling David to own up to the fact that he kissed you five nights ago?” Emma tells her before bringing the top of her beer bottle against her lips. She sneaks a look at Killian and finds him in an animated conversation with a shorter, plumper guy wearing a knitted red cap. Emma quickly averts her gaze when his eyes meet hers.  
“That’s not fair! That’s not even in the same category Emma.” Mary Margaret huffs, bringing Emma back to reality.  
“Well it’s much more important than me talking to Killian Jones.” Emma responds earnestly.  
“He has a name!” At the mention of his name, the slightly inebriated Mary Margaret gasps and claps her hands excitedly.  
“Yes, but that’s not important. I’d rather we talk about you, Mags.”  
“Well I don’t want to talk about me or David. I want to talk about you and the fact that that beautiful man has his eyes set on you.”  
“He has not.” Emma says quietly. She’d rather run, she’d rather make herself believe that no one has the remotest interest in her than to open herself up to hope.  
“Emma, you have to open up!” Mary Margaret stomps her foot, not the first time she reminds Emma of a stubborn toddler.  
“Last time I opened up, things didn’t exactly turn out well.” Emma shakes her head sadly.  
“Not every guy is going to be like Neal, you know.” Mary Margaret’s hand is cupping the side of Emma’s face, big hopeful blue eyes meeting her terrified green.   
“I know that…I’m just not ready. I’m just not.” Emma responds softly, small, the voice of a terrified child.  
“I think you should give it a shot. Promise me you’ll think about it.” Mary Margaret drops her hand and takes Emma’s in her own. Her voice is encouraging, almost maternal.  
“I don’t know…”  
“Promise, Emma.”  
“Fine, I promise.”

“Emma Swan!” Killian’s voice booms behind her. Emma turns towards him, her eyes wide open. It’s a good three hours later and the party shows no signs of dwindling down.  
“Yes?” She responded carefully, feeling the gaze of more than one person around her on her and an intense sense of discomfort enveloping her.  
“I’ve had a wonderful idea.” He sways over to her, looking more and more like a pirate than ever. He even holds a bottle of rum on his right hand.  
“Enlighten me.” She says, not being able to help the smile creeping into her face.  
“How’s about you and I have a romantic night on the town, say next Friday?” He asks flirtatiously, a wide and satisfied grin plastered on his face.  
“I’d say you’re drunk and not possibly serious.” Emma scoffs.  
“Oh, I’m not serious? Emma Swan, I’m incredibly serious.”  
“Prove it.” Emma says defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.   
“As you wish.” Killian thrusts the bottle of rum onto her to hold on to and next thing Emma knows he’s standing on a couch towering over the entire party. “Oi, Smee! Turn that music down!”  
Oh, no. Emma thinks as the music comes to an abrupt halt and all eyes turn to Killian. She turns her head back to Mary Margaret whose mouth is open wide.  
“Can I have your attention, please?” Killian starts loudly, “this beautiful woman over here does not believe that I am serious about wanting to take her out on a date.”  
“Killian get down!” Emma hisses.  
“I’m afraid I cannot get down until you agree to going out with me, Swan.” He smiles apologetically at her, like all of this is out of his control. She could kill him.  
“Fine! Just get down!” she says.  
“I’m sorry? I couldn’t quite hear that.” She’s definitely going to kill him.  
“Yes. I’ll go out with you!” Emma says loudly. Killian grins and jumps down, but not before motioning to have the music turned up again.  
“I’m going to kill you.” She tells him.  
“Promises, promises, Swan.”

2014  
In her office, Emma cannot stop staring at the picture of her, Mary Margaret, and David back at a stupid costume party in Ireland. Memories had brought her back to that night, the night she met Killian for the first time. She remembers Mary Margaret getting sick quickly after Killian asked her out and David rushing to her rescue. He brought her back home that night and took care of her. Mary Margaret insisted Emma keep hanging out with Killian. Emma guesses it worked out well for the both of them, Killian had walked her back to her dorm and Mary Margaret passed out leaning against David.  
Speaking of Killian, Emma hasn’t seen him for a little more than two weeks. He’s messaged her a couple of times and she’s responded. She appreciates that nothing he says alludes to the night of Mary Margaret’s and David’s wedding. He asks her how she’s been and sends her funny pictures. He never asks her to meet up or constantly smothers her with incessant messages. They’ve kept their conversations cordial, short, and infrequent. Emma hadn’t had a chance to figure out if she was going to tell Walsh or not, given that he hasn’t been home either. When Emma arrived from Storybrooke, the apartment was as empty and dark as it had ever been. With no Mary Margaret and no David to keep her company outside of work, Emma has just turned all her focus on her job. Royal Communications Media was finally signing a merger with a small advertising firm today and all heads of department had to be present at the meeting. Regina Mills, the CEO, had sent out the memo weeks ago but Emma had almost forgotten about it, her mind having been fogged by Killian, Walsh, and a general unshakeable feeling of unhappiness.   
Emma walks down to the elevators and heads down to the company meeting room. Royal Communications Media was a conglomerate company that specialized on every outlet of media communications, marketing, advertising, publicity, digital and print media. You name it, they had it. Today, however, they were acquiring a small, albeit highly profitable with high profile clients, local advertising firm and naming a new creative director.   
Emma sits in her usual chair and just twirls her rings slowly, as the other heads of department chatted their way about figures, demographics, and the importance of the right font. The only time she pays attention is when one of the assistants asks her what she’d like to drink and places her usual everything bagel and cream cheese in front of her. Emma mutters a thank you and becomes completely engrossed in slathering the right amount of cream cheese on her bagel. During this time, the meeting has begun and Regina talks about the decision about the merger and shows the prolonged statistics of assured success that the company can expect due to this acquisition.  
The meeting goes on forever, or so it seems. Emma hasn’t been paying attention at all. She is seated in the far back of the room, a strategically and closer to the exit. She’s been playing a candy crushing game on her phone for about ten minutes when a message from Killian pops up on her screen.

You know, you should really be paying more attention. This is fascinating stuff. 

Emma’s eyes open wide as she slowly lifts her head up and starts to take a look around the room, frantically trying to find him in the darkened room. When she does, she realizes Killian has been seating next to Regina the entire time. He seems like he’s looking intently at the figures on the screen, but the smirk on his face says otherwise. Emma wonders how long had he been sitting there and more importantly why was he sitting there. Suddenly the entire room lights up, marking the end of the presentation. Emma squints and blinks her eyes slowly so as to get accustomed to the brighter room. When her eyes have finally adjusted, she sees that Regina has stood up again and is facing them.  
“We are so happy to be able to include these amazing figures and clients into the Royal Media Communications’ family. And it is my pleasure to introduce you all to Killian Jones, our new creative director for Jolly Roger Advertising.” Oh, Emma thinks, that’s why.   
Regina motions to him and he stands up. Emma tries to ignore the jolt her stomach does at the sight of him. He looks around confidently at the room, and sets his eyes not on the back of the wall like Regina usually does, but directly onto Emma’s eyes.   
“Thank you, Regina. It is honestly such a pleasure to be on board such a magnificent company and I cannot wait to work with you all.” Emma hasn’t noticed that she had been holding her breath the entire time he spoke to her. Well, to be fair it was to the entire room, but that’s a nuance. The meeting is over then and most of the group gathers around Killian to shake his hand and introduce themselves to him. Emma, however, decides to slip out and waits outside. The room dissipates quickly until finally, Killian walks out.  
“Ah, Swan. I was starting to feel disappointed that you hadn’t come to introduce yourself.” He tells her, grinning widely. Emma doesn’t want to think about the uneasiness that has set camp in her stomach, nor does she want to think about how incredibly handsome he looks in his tailored navy blue suit.   
“What are you doing here?” she blurts out and she wishes she didn’t sound like such a frantic spaz.   
“Same as you, naturally. I work here now.” He responds calmly, a hint of humor in his tone.  
“In the company I work at?” She hisses incredulously.  
“To be fair, I didn’t know you worked here, love.” He smiles at her and Emma wishes her heart would calm down.  
“Yeah, okay.” Emma scoffs and rolls her eyes.  
“Emma, relax.” He says and places one of his hands on her shoulder, making Emma have an instant reminder of how good his touch felt on her bare skin. “I didn’t come here to sweep you off your feet or anything of the sort. This was an incredible opportunity and I took it. As simple as that.” He gives her a rueful smile and drops his hand from her shoulder.   
Emma wonders if his heart is racing just as fast as hers is, if he can feel the heat radiating from her stomach. She wants to desperately talk about that night. Hell, she wouldn’t even mind recreating that night. She wonders if he feels the same as her, just as lonely, just as terrified, just as desperate. He must, she concludes, because all of a sudden she can feel that he’s inched closer to her, that his gaze lingered a millisecond too long on her lips, and when her eyes met him they were wide and all those feelings were clearly sketched in them.   
“We should have lunch.” He said quietly and she nods.  
“Or dinner.” She offers, standing up on her tiptoes. “I think it’s time we talked.” Killian nods.  
“You think your husband can spare you?” His fingers lightly graze hers.  
“I honestly don’t think he’d notice.” She says before turning away and walking down the corridor and catching the elevator up to her floor. Killian had said that he wasn’t here to sweep her off her feet, and she’s fine with that, but she can’t shake the feeling that that’s already happened, that she had already dug her own grave, and that there was nothing stopping her from going further down the rabbit hole.


	7. Chapter 6

2006

Emma can feel his eyes on her from across the library. She bites her lip as she takes a glance at him and finds him looking away almost instantly, embarrassed and caught in the act. Emma shakes her head and rubs the length of her forearm, trying to rid herself of the sensation that was brought upon by her hairs standing on edge.   
“You two are ridiculous.” David says as he highlights something in his textbook and shakes his head.  
“What are you talking about?” Emma huffs. “There’s nothing between us.”  
“Oh, cut it out. You two have been eye-fucking each other since last week’s party.” David laughs, pointing an accusatory highlighter at Emma.  
“Even more so ever since your date two nights ago.” Mary Margaret adds.  
“We’re not eye-fucking David. And you…” she says giving Mary Margaret a slight shove on her shoulder, “aren’t helping.”  
“We just want to see you happy Emma. You’ve opened up to us, why not him?” Mary Margaret offers defensively.  
“Yeah, and if you’re not willing to do that, get some of that sexual tension out of the way at least.” David laughs, he’s in a much more lighter mood nowadays. He had gotten into a discussion with Kathryn a few days ago and she ended up calling it quits. David was relieved to say the least, but still hadn’t tried to pursue anything with Mary Margaret.   
Emma knew that David was right, both he and Mary Margaret were right actually. But David had hit the nail on the head much more so than Mary Margaret had. Two nights ago Emma and Killian had gone out on their date. And it had been a hell of a date and their chemistry was undeniable. Emma felt like Killian understood her on a deeper level than anyone else had. She couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but somehow she felt like Killian had also known pain and loss. Maybe his ordeal wasn’t at the same level as Emma’s, but she knew that whatever had happened to him was monumental enough to have shaped his character. In the few hours that she spent with him Emma felt like she was not in the company that of someone whose purpose was to fix her, but rather someone who was willing to accept her flaws and all. Or so she hoped, anyways.   
Emma knew that he was looking at her again and she would give anything to feel his lips on hers again, rather than be studying for her sociology midterm. After dinner on Friday, they had stopped at a pub on their way back and listened to some music. Two beers in they found themselves dancing amidst the dense and sweaty crowd, his hands on the small of her back, their bodies close together. Killian was definitely a total charmer, especially when they were back sitting in a booth in a dark secluded corner. He was whispering in her ear and making her laugh. After a while, Killian had suddenly gone quiet. Emma didn’t know when he had started to play with her hair, but she didn’t mind it at all.   
“You are incredible, Swan.” He said softly, his eyes sincere.  
“I’m alright.” She responded, feeling the blush creep up her neck in heated embarrassment. She is not the best at accepting compliments.  
“You’ve gone red.” He told her, giving her a small smile that reaches his eyes.  
“I tend to do that when I’m embarrassed.” She confided, the alcohol from the beers she had earlier acting like a truth serum.  
“Why are you embarrassed?” He smiled wider and had started to trace circles with his index finger on the back of Emma’s hand.  
“Because I’m nervous.” She decided to keep telling him the truth. Emma, usually a beacon of confidence, couldn’t remember the last time she felt this nervous.  
“Why are you nervous?” Emma could tell that he was really enjoying this, being the source of her unease. His face had inched closer to hers, she could see faint freckles on his cheeks as bright as day.  
“Because you’re really close to me and I’ve had an amazing time tonight.” At this he inched even closer to her, his hand entangled once again in her long hair.  
“Is this too close?” He asked her again, his hand having travelled to cup the side of her face.  
“No, you’re fine.”  
“How about this?” His lips by then were almost brushing hers and Emma’s heart threatened to beat right out of her chest.  
“Still okay.” She breathed, knowing fully that if she were standing she would’ve collapsed on the floor already.  
“I’m going to kiss you now, Emma Swan.” He pulled away slightly and looks directly into her eyes, his look genuinely asking her permission. Emma sensed a shake in his breath as he told her that. Maybe he was just as nervous as she was.   
“I honestly don’t know what’s taking you so long.” She said as she tugged on his collar and pulled him closer to her, their lips touching for the first time.

Emma feels as if recollecting her memory of Friday night has her threatening to fall over the edge. If Killian keeps looking at her the way he’s been looking at her for the past hour and doesn’t do something about it soon, Emma knows she’s bound to go insane. She desperately wants his lips against hers again, she wants more of him, and she knows he feels the same way. It takes her three more individual moments of squirming in her seat and attempts to ease down the hairs on her forearms for her to resolve to do something about her sexual frustration. She mumbles something about needing a book before standing up and heading to the back of the library, not before pausing slightly behind Killian and lightly dragging her fingers around his shoulders. She winks at him for a brief second as he looks up at her before she continues on to the back of the library. Halfway there, out of the corner of her eye she can see that he stood up a few seconds after she left and took the cue to follow her.   
With his legs slightly longer than hers, he catches up to her in a matter of seconds, and his hand instinctively places itself on the small of her back. Emma can’t seem to wipe the grin off her face, knowing full well how stupid it must look. Finally she reaches the last secluded corner of the library, full of old case files and research papers that barely anyone needs anymore, and she turns towards him, relieved to see that his smile matches the stupidity of hers.  
“You summoned me, Swan?” He asks, raising one eyebrow at her and hooking his index finger inside a belt loop in her jeans, pulling her closer to him.  
“Sure, if you want to call it that.” She teases, while she stands up on her tiptoes.  
“Care to tell me why you’ve made me follow you to the corner of the library that no one has stepped foot in since it’s inception?” He asks her softly, his face dangerously close to hers.  
“I’d rather just show you.” She answers before pulling him by his collar and kissing him full on the lips. Emma thought that the moment their lips would meet she would satiate the hunger, the lust, the wanting she had for him. However, what she found was that with every second that his lips were on hers, the more she wanted them there, and the less satisfied she was. Emma is glad to see that Killian wants her as much as she wants him right now. He’s pushing her against the bookcase and the metal digging into Emma’s back but she doesn’t care because his knee is thrust between her legs applying pressure to the area where she needs it most. His stubble is scratching her chin raw, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. His hands are warm and comforting, goose bumps welcoming the warmth that follows having his hands grasp her waist underneath her sweatshirt. Killian then starts kissing her neck, making Emma moan a little too loud for what was appropriate. But who are they kidding? What’s appropriate about making out in the back of the library during midterms? Still, Killian pulls back and shushes her, grinning while he covers her mouth with his hand and diving back into kissing her neck. Emma feels her knees weak, knowing fully that if Killian weren’t sustaining her by pressing her up the bookcase she’d melt down on the floor. Emma feels his erection pressing up against her thigh, and dear God she wishes he could take her right then and there. It’s been so long since she’s been intimate with anyone and residual teenage hormones seem to still be swirling deep amongst her system.   
Killian curses against her neck when he feels that Emma has ventured her hand down and is stroking him through the jean fabric. He’d take her then and there if she’d let him. His thoughts have been consumed with her presence for the last two days, especially after Friday night. He has been kissing her lips again for quite some time. To be honest, neither of them remembers how long it has been since they started or how long they’ve been away. Finally, they come up for air and look at each other intently for the first time during this whole exchange. It is unspoken, but somehow they both know that for the first time they’d be willing to open up again so long as it was with each other.

2014 

“What are you thinking about, Swan?” Killian asks her quietly in the dimly lit restaurant they were in. The restaurant is small and Italian and in the heart of the Meat Packing District, close to where Killian lives.   
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She answers with a smirk, looking down at the mess she’s made on the table with her paper napkin lies now shredded. It’s a horrible habit, really, something she picked up God knows when.   
“Tell me.” She looks up at him when he speaks again, his tone pleading and playful.  
“Well, if you must know. I was thinking about that day we were supposed to be studying for midterms and ended up basically having sex in the library.”  
“Ah, yes. Didn’t we scar Mary Margaret for life that day?” He gives a low, breathy laugh, remembering the incident well.  
“I think she said something much more dramatic, but yes that sounds about right.” She concedes and is quiet again.

“You know, you’re the one that ever calls me Swan anymore.” She says after a while, once her plate is placed in front of her. She rests against the booth and brings the glass of wine back to her lips.  
“Old habits die hard, love. Plus it has a better ring on your name than Walter’s.” He tells her simply, grinning widely at her.  
“Walsh.” She corrects him automatically. She later realizes that she doesn’t care what he calls her husband. She’s already been intimate with Killian and she wants to be again. She’s definitely not in love with Walsh anymore. So, what does that make her and Killian? They were more than coworkers, obviously, and undoubtedly more than friends. However, were they going to put a label on it, or was he even going to agree to seeing her like this?  
“I don’t care.” He shrugs back at her, smiling, and bringing his beer bottle back to his lips and taking a swig.  
“So, I guess we should discuss whatever this is.” She offers, attempting to get the conversation flowing.  
“Let’s just have dinner right now, love. Plenty of time to catch up later.” He tells her sincerely before taking a hold of her hand and giving it a light squeeze.  
“Okay.”

***

Once they’ve had dinner they find themselves on their way to Killian’s apartment. Killian tells her that it’s only a ten-minute walk and that he’d rather talk to her about this in private. Emma wants to desperately hold his hand and she’s sure that Killian does too. The back of his hand has been ghosting around the back of hers, almost touching but not quite. Every time it happens Emma looks up at him, causing him to defiantly look straight ahead but also causing a wide smirk to appear on his face. She smiles to herself. She knows that she shouldn’t feel this happy, this fulfilled, and this complete when she’s with Killian, but she does. Walsh is not present in her mind whenever she’s with Killian, and as a matter a fact nothing else really is either. When she’s with Killian she feels as if they’re the only two souls in the world, the only two people in Manhattan or anywhere else. They haven’t agreed on anything yet, but the way he looks at her is enough for Emma to feel a sense of happiness she hasn’t felt in ages. She feels completely comfortable and content just by walking next to him, no need to talk or fill the empty space between them with longing touches or empty words. Killian’s company is more than enough for her, and that’s something she hasn’t let herself open up to in months and maybe even years.  
They finally arrive at his building. Emma shoves her hands inside her pockets and swings on the balls of her feet for a few seconds as he unlocks the front door. There’s no denying that this building used to be a warehouse of some sort back in the day, the inlaid red bricks on the wall are dated and scratched in some places. Emma takes in the vast difference of his place to hers. Her building and apartment are sleek, minimal, and off-white in color. Whereas his is rustic, industrial, vibrant colors in the wall, it’s completely Killian in every sense of the word. Emma cannot stop the grin from spreading widely when Killian takes hold of her hand inside of the elevator. As he squeezes it, she feels like her heart threatens to beat out of her chest any moment.   
They arrive at his loft and Emma is taken aback by the juxtaposition of the industrial brick and the sleek, stainless steel kitchen equipment and modern interior. It’s what she always imagined her place would look like.  
“Wow.” she breathes taking in the surroundings. He had acquired what looked like an original Jackson Pollock and some vintage metal signs. On the corner he had a laser cutter and books that specialized in typefaces, advertising, and design.  
“Do you like it?” he asks with a small smile.  
“I love it. It’s incredible.” Emma grins back.   
“Do you want something to drink? Beer? Wine? Water?” He asks after mumbling his thanks.  
“Water is fine.” Emma responds and as he walks away, she starts to look at the pictures over his mantelpiece. She’s surprised to see that she’s in one of them, not by herself, but alongside Mary Margaret, David, and Killian. She sees a picture of his parents, and of his late brother Liam, and then she sees a picture of a woman she doesn’t recognize. She’s beautiful, Emma concludes, with high cheekbones, long dark brown hair, and pale blue eyes.   
She feels Killian’s gaze on her and she turns towards him. He offers her a glass of water and she takes it gratefully. She can see that Killian is tense, his eyes dark and clouded by an emotion she cannot decipher. Whoever that woman was, Emma knows better than to ask him about it, so she sits down on the couch and beckons him to sit next to her.  
When he does she places her glass on the coffee table and cups his face instead, kissing him lightly on the lips. He kisses her back, hand buried in her long blonde hair. Emma feels herself getting flustered, heat radiating from her stomach. This is the first time they kiss since the wedding, and she needs more. She cannot fathom what has gotten into her or why she cannot control herself around him, but she’s blaming her blatant lack of affection and her desperate need for it. She tries to deepen the kiss, but he doesn’t let her, frustrating her to no end. Emma is insistent, biting his lip, even trying to part his lips with her tongue but Killian won’t budge.  
She pulls back with a pout, clearly upset with his lack of response. She crosses her arms across her chest and slumps down against the sofa. Killian presses his head against her shoulder, nuzzling it up into the crook of her neck.  
“What, love?” he asks, his voice muffled.  
“What do you mean ‘what’? You don’t want to kiss me.” Emma huffs, her pout unbeknownst to her protruding further.  
“Yes I do.” Killian tells her defiantly.  
“Your lack of enthusiasm would convince anyone otherwise.” Emma says quietly. She really is more embarrassed than she is hurt by this whole exchange.   
“I’m sorry.” He tells her sincerely, but Emma is too embarrassed to even look at him and test out her lie detector magic.  
“I thought you wanted me.” It kills Emma to say these words. Even after all these years, admitting that she craved affection and wasn’t the unabashed loner she set out to portray caused her discomfort. The fact that she’s here at Killian’s apartment is a huge deal in itself, let alone the fact that she’s more than willing to be swept of her feet by him.  
“I do! Emma, love. I do want you. I just--” His voice trails off.  
“You just what?”  
“I just want to do this right.” He responds shyly, blue eyes locking with hers. “You know, I want to properly court you, Swan.” He’s back to his original impertinence, grinning cockily at her and throwing a wink for good measure.  
Emma laughs. “How exactly do you properly court a married woman, Killian?”  
“I’ll figure it out. But first, we need to figure out what all this is.” He tells her, grinning and motioning between them.  
“I believe it’s called an affair.” Emma says matter of fact.   
“We both know it’s more than that, Emma.” Killian responds softly, his hand covering Emma’s and squeezing it lightly.  
“Are you saying you figured out the reason why we were so adamant and willing to jump in bed together?”  
“I’m pretty sure I have.”  
“And?”  
“It’s clear, isn’t it? We were both desperately craving attention and affection.”  
“Well I know I was…but you? What happened to you?”  
Killian sobers up quickly and he’s quiet for what seems like an eternity. Emma knows how hard it is to open up, how hard it is to let one in and know your pain. Killian talked about craving affection in such a passionate way that it resonated deep within her. Emma wanted to get the ball rolling and make him start talking. She wanted to help him, heal him, and comfort him in ways beyond sexual satisfaction. It really astonishes her how easy it has been to fall back into such a comfortable pattern with him, how her walls have slowly started to come down barely without any difficulty, and how when she is with him time seems to stop.  
“Is it her?” she asks somberly, fully knowing that for her picture to be next to Liam’s it meant that whomever this woman was, she was important to Killian.  
Killian simply nods his head, staring straight towards the picture and taking a moment to finish off the last of his beer. A sense of unease fills Emma’s entire body, if this woman is so important to make Killian completely shut down, what on earth happened? And more importantly, could she ever compare? True, they had a past together, but that was simply one year abroad. Back then they were young and they were foolish, and after she left letters were less frequent, time difference hindered, and their relationship just withered away like flowers do in the winter.  
“Who is she?” she asks, her voice shy and small.  
“She’s my wife.” He says stoically, rolling the empty beer bottle’s neck between his palms.  
“You’re married?” Emma wishes she hadn’t sound so incredulous. She also wishes that a pang of jealousy hadn’t taken over her system. After all, she’s married too.  
“I was.” He responds in the same bland, stoic voice and stands up, walking towards the picture.  
“Divorce?” Emma asks, still sitting on the couch.   
“Widow, actually.” Killian responds, looking at her and giving her a rueful smile. A smile that told Emma that he had accepted the fact that his wife was gone, but that he still hadn’t gotten over it. I’m not sure you ever do, Emma thought.  
“She was beautiful.”  
“Aye, she was something. Met her a little after the time when we called it quits. She saved me.” That last part he says to himself, his voice grateful.  
“Is that why you moved here, because she’s gone?”  
“In part, I just couldn’t bear it anymore. Too many memories.”  
“Do you mind if I ask how it happened? How she…” Emma couldn’t bring herself to finish the question; she had never known loss in this way.  
“How she died?”  
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, I don’t mean to be intruding.”  
“It’s alright, Swan. I’m used to answering it.” Or so he wanted himself to believe. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure before he continued. “She died of a pregnancy complication.”   
Emma is at a loss for words, not only had Killian lost his wife, but he had also lost his future child. He begins to tell her the entire story. How he had met Milah, his wife, a year after he had returned to England after being in Dublin. He told her how madly they both fell for each other and how they were eventually married. He told her how they were married for three years when Milah finally became pregnant with what would’ve been their first child. He told her how overjoyed he had been and how they had gone through all the motions, when on the sixth month of her pregnancy Milah started bleeding profusely and had to be taken to the hospital. Killian said he had never been so terrified in his life, how the doctor didn’t give much hope to either the Milah or his child. He tells her how the doctor had said that they had to deliver he child but that there was a fifty percent chance that Milah, or the child, or both, wouldn’t make it. He tells her how during the emergency C-section he lost Milah, but the child managed to survive. He tells her that he never got to hold his baby girl, how she was hooked on tubes for two weeks, so frail and so small, until she too passed away.  
There are tears in Emma’s eyes. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to go through such an ordeal. To find your true love, and to find your happiness only to have it all snatched away from you in a blink of an eye. She stands up, goes over to him, and hugs him fiercely.  
“I’m so sorry, Killian.” She says against his shoulder, her voice muffled.  
“It’s alright, love. It’s been four years; I’ve made my peace with it.” He tells her, giving her a reassuring grin. He circles his hands against her waist and holds her close, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“I don’t want to leave.” She confides later on, lying on his bed. They’ve been lying there for a good two hours, fully clothed, taking turns between talking and kissing, both continuously on the brink of falling asleep.   
“Then don’t.” He responds tightening his grip around her waist, molding his body to hers. His face was resting in the crook of her neck, his arms were draped around her middle, his knees pressed up to the back of hers, and their legs intertwined.  
“I’m tired of existing, of being unhappy. I want to live.”  
“Then let’s live.”


	8. Chapter 7

2007

The Sunday morning light falls faintly on Emma’s face, making her stir slowly out of sleep. Killian’s arm is lazily draped around her middle, his body pressed against hers in the intimate twin sized dorm bed. It’s January now, and barely three months have passed since they started seeing each other.   
It’s early, probably not even seven yet, and Emma takes a moment to look at Killian. She loves looking at him; she concluded that ages ago, and she particularly likes watching him when he sleeps. Not creepily or anything, she just finds herself looking at him from time to time, a small smile gracing her face as his chest rises up and down methodically, his features calm and content with no worry in the world. She nuzzles her face against his chest, hugging him closer and she thinks about how far they’ve come along since October. How fast and juvenile they were at first, but how wonderful it has been to fall into this pattern of, dare she say it, love.   
They haven’t said anything yet, but they know. Somehow along the way from October till now, they fell into this relationship without either of them realizing it. She vividly remembers the carnal and zealous relationship they started out with. It was needy, drunken, and hungry. Like coming home from a night out, almost at the point of passing out but still wired from the events that had happened, still drunk with the emotions felt, and still craving the touch of another. She remembers fooling around almost every night, each time pushing the envelope further. She remembers making out for hours, touching each other for the first time, and her legs shaking uncontrollably the first time he went down on her. She remembers his laugh as he kissed her and told her to relax, that everything was going to be okay.   
She can pinpoint falling for him last week during Winter Break, when David and Mary Margaret had gone home. Emma had plans to stay because she had no home to go back to. Killian took her to his, instead, and they were intimate there for the first time. It was quick and hidden, and they were a little drunk from the Christmas punch being served at the party downstairs. He had pressed her up against the wall of his bedroom, hoisted up her skirt, and pushed her underwear to the side. Emma wishes she could say that it was amazing, but the moment was short-lived and kind of fleeting. They haven’t tried again since. Emma knows it’ll get better, though. Once they’re actually on a bed and without fear of any family interruptions. She’s positive.   
“Swan, why in bloody hell are you awake?” Killian’s groggy voice asks above her. She hears his voice reverberate from deep inside his chest.  
“I can’t sleep, the sun’s in my eye.” She nuzzles her face into his chest, her voice coming out small and muffled. She wants to tell him that she loves him, but the words can’t seem to come out.   
She loves him. She can’t deny that she does, she can’t lie to herself about it anymore. She loves the special grin that he reserves for her. It’s wicked, sly, and mischievous. She loves the way his voice says her name so soft, pleading, and hopeful. She loves the way he makes her laugh and the way his eyes light up when she does. She loves how she feels like she can lose herself completely in his company and feel like she’s found a place were she belongs. Right now, right here, in his arms she feels more at home than she ever has anywhere else. It terrifies her but excites her at the same time.  
He shifts under her, rubbing his eyes and sloppily moving over her. He makes to the window and pulls the curtain shut, climbing into bed after doing so.  
“Now go back to sleep, you insane woman.” He grumbles, taking her spot in the bed as she scoots back towards the wall.   
Every time Emma looks at him, she feels the words threatening to slip out. Should she just say it? Should she wait for him to say it first? God, she’s so bad at this. She never felt this for Neal. Well, maybe she did, but never with this intensity. She’s terrified. She should just say it.  
“Emma, you’re staring at me.” He tells her, eyes closed and a smile creeping on his face.  
She apologizes, not realizing that she had been looking at him all this time. Killian opens his eyes and looks at her quizzically. He notices her furrowed brow and her teeth biting down on her bottom lip.   
“Love, are you alright?” he asks, propping his head up with his hand. Emma smiles at him and nods her head.  
“I don’t believe you.” He says simply. Emma rolls her eyes at him and tugs at his shirt collar. She kisses him, a soft, simple kiss.   
“I’m fine. I promise.” She tells him earnestly as she pulls away. Killian cups her face with his hand, smiling at her with his mouth slightly open, his eyes locked on hers. He stares into her eyes for what seems like forever. There’s so much love pouring out from his gaze that Emma just knows.  
“I love you.” she breathes, looking intently at him.   
“I love you.” He lets out a shaky breath and smiles at her, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She grins at him, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders.   
Killian pulls her in for a kiss slowly and tentatively. His hand cradles the back of her neck as he pulls her lower lip between his. Emma feels his hand shake behind her, but it stops when he lays her head down and starts kissing her deeply. Every time he breaks he tells her that he loves her and she tells him the same. She has never felt like this before and she wants the whole world to know how she feels. How she, Emma Swan, once a lost girl, has found her home in the very arms of another.   
Killian moves methodically on her body, whatever happened in his room during break was nowhere to be found on this early Sunday morning. Every single nerve in Emma’s body was waking up to his touch. She was waking up to his lips sucking lightly on her neck and to his hand ghosting around the thin fabric covering her breasts, fingers nimbly making their way arousing her deep down to her core. She feels his laughter against her collarbone after she moans rather loudly. He kisses his way back up through her neck, her jaw, and back to her mouth. Emma has been grinding against his leg for a while now, trying desperately to achieve some pressure against her center. Killian, sensing this, immediately thrusts up his knee in between her legs, his noticeable erection pressing against her hip. Emma’s hand travels inside of his boxers and grabs a hold of him, making Killian audibly groan against her lips. He stills on top of her while she starts moving her hand up and down his length. He throws his head back, a slight smile forming on his parted mouth. Emma loves the friction between them, the electricity they share.   
Killian begs her to stop, but she doesn’t concede. Instead she sloppily and kind of ungracefully scoots further down the bed and replaces her hand with her mouth instead. A string of curses leaves Killian’s lips, his hands digging into her hair guiding her mouth along his length. She keeps at it for a couple of more minutes until he pulls her back up to him and guides her face to his, index finger under her chin till her lips reach his.   
Kissing her, he grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off when their lips break for a split second. Shirt discarded and tossed to the other side of the room, Killian hugs her naked body against his, his face burrowed in her chest. He kisses her collarbone and lightly pulls her down to his side. Emma begs him to be inside her, she wants him, she needs him. Killian concedes and at once he’s on top of her, moving inside her, filling her up exactly the way she needed. 

2014  
Emma can hardly believe how happy she has been in the past couple of months and she knows that the source of her happiness is Killian. She feels like a kid again, selfishly and immeasurably in love.   
She’s in love with Killian.   
She has fallen for him just as fast and hard as she did almost nine years ago. And though she knows that she should feel guilty of sneaking around, guilty of being adulterous, guilty of being in love with a man that’s not her husband, at the end of the day she simply doesn’t. Emma had turned a blind eye to Walsh’s late nights, secretive phone calls, nights spent sleeping in the office, and the constant presence of his campaign manager, Zelena, for months before Killian had come back into her life. Emma was not stupid and she certainly was not born yesterday. Emma knew there had to be a reason for Walsh to lose interest in her just as quickly as he had gained interest when they first met.   
For months before, during, and after his reelection campaign, Emma strived to regain contact with her husband. She became desperate, desolate, and even thought about faking a pregnancy to regain the close relationship she had with Walsh once before. She spent her nights waiting up for him, homemade dinners left forgotten and cold on the stove. Emma tried everything, she looked into marriage counseling and she even spent an unspeakable amount of money on every sort of lingerie available, but nothing worked. Even when Walsh was at their apartment, Emma felt lonelier in his presence than whenever he was out. At benefits and parties regarding his work, Emma would spend hours getting ready only to be left unattended at the venue, Walsh nowhere to be found. Even during times where he was found, Walsh would sneak into his office always trying to get extra work done. Funny, Emma always thought, how Zelena would always be with him in the escapades in question.   
Tired of him denying her “constant inquisition”, (as he called the occasions whenever Emma brought up her discomfort with his constant disinterest), and tired of him denying her requests for a separation or divorce once she attempted to bring them up, Emma turned to her work, crying at the end of every day, drinking copious amounts of cheap chardonnay every night, and dinner at the Charmings’ every week. Emma became incredibly depressed, rarely finding a reason to get out of bed every morning. Emma thought about trying to give her love to a pet, but the beta fish she bought died after two weeks. In her defense, she maintains that the fish was sick when she bought it for two dollars. In reality, she fed it every other day.  
Around this time last year, Emma felt like dying. She felt like a bird with clipped wings, stuck in a cage and with no means to get out. But ever since Killian has come into her life, she has felt alive and wanted.   
She loves him. She loves how she gets to see him almost every day, how he’ll find an excuse to drop by her office and how she’ll do the same to drop by his. She loves how he’ll invite her over his place to cook for her, or attempt to anyways, and end up making love all night long. She loves how they are together, how well they fit.

Tonight there is a gathering at the Charmings’, a housewarming party. Mary Margaret and David had moved out of their one bedroom apartment near Columbus Circle and had just finished moving into their new townhouse on Gramercy Park, a house that had been in Mary Margaret’s family for generations and that her parents bequeathed her and David as a wedding present. This will be the first outing that Emma and Killian attend after they started fooling around. Naturally, they’ve kept their romantic endeavor to each other, but it’s not stopping tonight from being a nerve-wracking experience.   
They’ve been messaging each other all afternoon, with him telling her all he wishes he could do to her, trying to convince her to skip the party and go over to his place instead so they could make love all night. It had been a hectic couple of weeks at Royal Communications Media, Emma’s department was getting ready to launch their marketing campaign for the latest dystopian teen movie that was coming out early next year and Killian’s department was busy getting all the creative promotion together for the same movie. They mostly saw each other at work, and overlooking the rare shove into a broom closet inside of their respective offices and those attempts at physical interaction, they hadn’t been together in over two weeks. Walsh had been in town as well to take a break from campaigning, and though he was rarely home as usual, Emma felt like she couldn’t risk it.  
Despite Killian’s protests, Emma insisted and succeeded in having him attend the party. She might have bribed him with a promise to stay overnight at his place, something she never does, but that is beside the question. The invitation said to arrive at 7:30, but Emma gets there early to help set up. Killian arrives a little ways later, wearing fitting steel gray pants, matching steel gray jacket, and a crisp periwinkle shirt with a black tie. His hair is damp and swept back, his beard growing in nicely, beyond his usual stubble, and his eyes more piercing than ever. Emma feels her breath catch in her throat the moment he steps in the kitchen and hands her a bottle of scotch he brought as a gift. Their fingers graze each other’s as he hands her the bottle, Emma tries to hide the jolt his touch provoked in her. He smiles at her and asks her how she is, as if he didn’t know that all Emma wants to do is push him up against a wall and have her way with him.  
She really thought he was going to be the troublesome one tonight, but it appears that she’s the one who’s going to have to keep her longing under control.   
“I’m great. How are you? How’s work treating you?” She hates that she has to fake idle conversation. She knows how work is treating him, the third installment of the dystopian movie is driving them both up a wall.   
“I’m wonderful. Finding innovative creative ways to promote yet another post-apocalyptic movie is quite tiresome.” Emma lets out a forced laugh, they’ve had this conversation before over Chinese takeout back at RCM’s board rooms.  
They look at each other, trying to hide the smiles that threaten to come out. They’re both so bad at this it’s a wonder they haven’t been caught yet. Emma turns back to take out the crescent rolls out of the oven and place them in a basket.  
“How’s Walter? Is he here tonight?” Killian asks, a second attempt at conversation.   
“You mean Walsh? No, he couldn’t make it. He’s really sorry though, campaigning has taken up most of his time.” She answers, directing the second half of the sentence at Mary Margaret and David.  
“Is he not in Manhattan tonight?” Mary Margaret asks concernedly.  
“No, he’s on his way to Ithaca and upstate, he has some rally’s there this week.” Emma responds, waving her hand dismissively at the question.  
“How come you’re not up there with him? Emma if you have to do your senator wife duties, you know we understand.” David tells her sincerely. Two years ago Emma had done that very same campaign trail when Walsh was up for reelection.  
“Are you kidding? I’m swamped with coming up with marketing plans for two movies, and a television show.” She says between laughs, as if that’s the most ridiculous thing she’s heard all night.  
“Come on, mate. You know Swan isn’t one to stand in the sidelines to watch her husband kiss babies, give away washing machines to older folks, and secure votes in any way possible.” Killian tells David, a little bit of an edge to his voice.  
“Exactly.” Emma concedes. “That’s just not me.” 

 

People start to trickle into the party around eight and it begins to get so crowded that Emma finally feels like she’s not in anyone’s line of attention anymore. Killian and she have barely talked to each other all night. He’s been occupied with David and some other men talking about work, sports, and HBO shows. You know, the usual. He steals glances at her whenever she’s in the room though. His glances are so natural and so often you’d think it was a reflex that he has no control over. Emma loves every second of it, though. She loves that he can’t help but to look at her. 

Once she leaves the room and goes out to the empty balcony overlooking Gramercy Park, her phone vibrates against her hand and she sees that she’s received a message from him. A wide, silly grin forms on her face when she reads it. He simply told her that he thought she looked absolutely stunning in the red dress she was wearing. He follows up the message with another one that states that he can’t wait to take it off later tonight.   
“What are you smiling about?” Mary Margaret chimes in questioningly, joining Emma in the balcony.  
“It’s nothing.” Emma smiles at her, tucking her phone back into her pocket. Her dress has pockets, regardless of how good it looks on her; the pockets were definitely the main selling point for her.  
“You seem happier, Em. Have you fixed things with Walsh?” Mary Margaret asks hopeful.  
“Not at all. I’m highly thinking about divorcing him after his campaign is over.” Emma snorts.  
“Oh, my god. It’s that serious? Why hadn’t you told me? Are you going to be okay? You’re not even going to try to work it out?” Mary Margaret is genuinely preoccupied for her friend. Mostly because of how nonchalantly Emma throws out the word ‘divorce’.  
“Mary Margaret, I’m done trying to work things out with him. I don’t want to be with a person who makes me feel like I need to beg for attention, a person who makes me feel like whatever I do is just not enough for him to throw me some scrap of love my way. I’m done. I fell out of love with him and I don’t plan on staying in this situation anymore.” Emma tells her, fighting back tears threatening to fall down. Despite the fact that she’s no longer in love with Walsh, the fact that he made her feel like she couldn’t make the marriage work out will always stay with her as just another failed attempt at creating a bond with another person.   
Mary Margaret squeezes Emma’s hand and gives her a reassuring smile.   
“It’s going to be okay, Emma. I know it will. Just remember that believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing. You’ll get yours.” She finishes by mentioning that she should probably go back to the party and walks back into her new home, leaving Emma in the balcony.

“Swan, what are you doing out here? It’s absolutely freezing, you’re going to catch your death.” Killian says while entering the balcony. He shrugs off his suit jacket and places it around Emma’s shoulder.  
“I was just thinking.” She tells him, hugging the jacket closer to her and murmuring her thanks.  
“About what, love?” He asks, a small smile gracing his lips as he unconsciously fixes her long hair around the jacket’s collar.   
“Just something that Mary Margaret told me.” She knows they probably shouldn’t be standing as close to each other as they currently are.  
“And what might that be?” he asks softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  
“That believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing.” Emma responds, bringing up her hand to cover his.   
“Quite the optimistic lass, isn’t she?”   
“Absolutely, but she’s right.” She nods, burying her face in his hand and kissing the palm of it. They need to stop this, they’re too out in the open, and anyone can see them.  
“How so?” He’s enthralled, positively mesmerized by every word she’s saying. There’s no one else in the world right now, only Emma.  
“I just can’t help but feel like everything is starting to look up.” She answers, letting go of his hand and going over to lean over the railing.  
“What do you mean?” He asks, standing next to her, his back against the railing.  
“It’s just that, ever since we started to do this,” she motions between them, “I can’t help but feel like I have a shot at true happiness.” Killian raises his eyebrows, a cocky grin directed at her.  
“Are you saying I’m your happy ending, Swan?” He’s obviously having too much fun with this, the possibility of Emma wanting so much more with him.  
“No, I’m just saying that you are the reason I’m getting a happy ending.”  
“So you’re using me?” He teases, turning on the snarky Killian Jones persona. He has inched closer to her once again, all Emma wants to do is to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him.  
“Not at all. You’re saving me.” Emma tells him seriously, trying to not give away her thoughts.  
“I thought you said I was a pirate that stole your heart.” He says quietly, almost whispering it into her ear.  
“You’re a hero, too.” She answers, deciding to look intently at Gramercy Park so as to not be tempted to any of her thoughts regarding Killian.  
They stay silent for a while, Killian’s fingers ghosting around hers, never fully touching but enough to know that is his intention. Emma turns away from the view of the park and turns to look at him.  
“What would your happy ending be?” She asks him, a playful smile forming at her lips. Killian knits his eyebrows incredulously, gives a hollow chuckle, and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.  
“I would think that’s quite obvious, love.” He tells her finally, his gaze intensely locked on hers. “It’s you.” Emma’s breath hitches in the back of her throat, and her heart feels like it dropped down to the bottom of her stomach. Without thinking, she leans over and, dragging his face towards hers, places her lips on his. He responds by pushing her towards a corner against the wall and kissing her deeply. They kiss for what it seems is an eternity. It’s passionate and electric, like they’ve woken up from a dream state they did not know they were in.  
“I love you, Emma Swan. I always have.” Killian breathes once they break apart, gliding his nose against hers before kissing her once again.  
“I love you too, Killian. I really, really, do.” She tells him, grinning into the kiss.  
Suddenly, they’re forced to break apart by the sound of Mary Margaret dropping a cup of what was presumably filled with hot cocoa and followed by the uncharacteristic shocked exclamation of “holy shit.”  
Holy shit, indeed.


	9. Chapter 8

It means a lot to Emma that Killian has given her the space she needs to talk to Mary Margaret after she caught them mid-makeout. In a moment like this, some women might want their partner to stand beside them and give them strength. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but he knows that Emma thrives within her independence and the best thing that he could do was to let her talk to Mary Margaret on her own. Mary Margaret is pacing in the study when Emma meets her.   
“Mags…”Emma starts. Mary Margaret looks at her briefly and continues pacing.  
“Emma, what are you thinking?” She finally says after a few moments, in the most motherly tone she can muster.  
“Please don’t give me that tone, you’re not my mother.” Emma responds curtly, moving to sit on top of the desk, arms crossed on top of her chest.  
“I can’t help it.” Mary Margaret tells her matter-of-factly.  
“I know.”  
“I’m just so…so confused. What is going on? How long has it been going on? What are you doing? What is he doing? Is this serious? Are you guys a thing now? Is this why you want a divorce? Are you just fooling around?” She rambles, her pacing getting faster.  
“Mags, breathe.” Emma tells her, an incredulous smile gracing her lips.  
“Sorry, I’m just shocked. Why didn’t you tell me anything?” Mary Margaret demands.  
“Well that’s the thing about affairs, you kind of have to keep them quiet.” Emma offers.  
“Don’t be a smartass.” Mary Margaret snaps, her pacing coming to a halt.  
“I’m really not trying to be.” Emma says quietly.  
“Is it serious?” Mary Margaret asks earnestly.  
“I don’t know.” Emma doesn’t want to hope, not yet. Killian is perfect and she loves him, but part of her wonders if he’s just an escape to her or if it’s the real deal.  
“You don’t know?” Mary Margaret’s voice is back to its shrill incredulous tone.  
“No…I mean, I’d like it to be.” Emma offers quietly.  
“How long has this been going on?” Mary Margaret keeps the interrogation.  
“You know, just a couple of months.” Emma is really trying to evade answering her with the truth.   
“How long, Emma.” Mary Margaret asks with more force.   
“Give or take six months…”  
Realization dawns on Mary Margaret’s features quickly. She goes from looking shocked, disgusted, impressed, and angry all in a manner of two seconds.  
“Oh, my god. Oh, my god! You had sex with him at my wedding, didn’t you? That’s why you disappeared! That’s why you were acting weird the morning after! I knew it! You had the same face you’d get in undergrad after a one-night stand.” She’s rounding up on Emma, who’s now gone from sitting on the desk to moving behind the couch and using a cushion as a shield.  
“Shut up.” Emma sighs as she decides to slump on the couch instead of hiding behind it. Mary Margaret decides to slump right next to her.  
“How long are you going to keep this up?” Mary Margaret asks quietly.  
“What do you mean?” Emma asks tiredly, slouching further down the couch and resting her head against the back of it.  
“I mean, it’s an affair. They end one of two ways, either you leave your husband for your lover or it comes and bites you in the ass and one of you ends up dead. Are you going to tell Walsh? You have to do something, Emma.” Emma wishes Mary Margaret would breathe every once in a while, she also wishes Mary Margaret wouldn’t worry for her.  
“I’m just taking it day by day. And none of us is going to end up dead.” Emma responds, digging the heel of her palm into her eyes trying to block out the conversation with the dark spots that appear with the pressure.  
“This is going to bite you in the ass, you’re ridiculous.” Mary Margaret offers with a chuckle.  
“Mags, I know what I’m doing.” Emma retorts exasperatedly. Her tone reignites the fire under Mary Margaret’s temper. She rounds on Emma.  
“No you don’t! You said it yourself, you’re taking it day by day! What you are is playing with fire, Emma.” Mary Margaret raises her voice, completely disregarding her decorum in regards to the party.  
“Does it matter? Mags, I’m happy for once!” Emma matches her tone.  
“What happens when Killian gets tired of chasing you or your husband leaves you? Your husband, who’s a senator by the way and he’s not going to take a scandal lightly. What happens then, Emma?” Emma knows it’s taking everything in Mary Margaret’s power not to grab Emma by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.  
“He’s not going to leave me.” Emma says defiantly.  
“Walsh isn’t going to leave you when he realizes that you’ve been cheating on him for months?” Mary Margaret scoffs and retorts incredulously.  
“Killian. I meant Killian, he’s not going to leave me.” Emma says even more forcefully.  
“Why does that even matter? He’s not the man you’re married to.” The way Mary Margaret says this so nonchalantly makes the last ounce of calm Emma was harboring completely evaporate out of her system and get replaced by outward rage.   
“Because he loves me, Mary Margaret! And he’s never stopped loving me. And I love him! And ever since he came back into my life I haven’t been borderline suicidal anymore! And that matters! He makes me feel alive, he makes me want to be alive and that is much more than my husband has ever done for me! My husband already left me. He left me for dead in the Upper West Side! He had an affair with his job and with whatever sleazy campaign intern he’s had. Why does he get to enjoy his life and I don’t? I am happy. Killian makes me happy and he makes me feel loved, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.” It’s real. Emma knows for sure now, what she feels for Killian is real.  
“If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” Mary Margaret responds quietly, but sincerely.  
“I’ve never been happier.” Emma reaffirms earnestly.  
“Then that settles it. I need to get back to the party.” Mary Margaret stands up and smoothes the front of her dress.  
“Yeah, you go. I’ll be out in a second.” Emma nods, her fingers wiping at the tears that threatened to stream down her face.  
“Emma?” Mary Margaret asks from the door.  
“Yeah?” Emma looks up, meeting Mary Margaret’s concerned face.  
“Just be careful.” She pleads.  
“I will, I promise.”  
***

“Emma?” Killian’s voice travels into the study as he peeks from the door. Emma’s stomach does a flip when she sees him.   
“Hey, stranger.” She gives him a sad smile.  
“You alright, love?” He asks as he comes nearer and sits down next to her. Her head immediately finds the crook of his neck. His arm naturally snakes around her shoulders, bringing her closer to him. Emma wishes she could stay there forever.  
“I think so.” She answers him finally, her voice muffled against his shoulder.  
“How did it go?” He asks her quietly. Emma is relishing in the comfort his hand tracing circles across her bare shoulders is giving her. Normally, she’d be embarrassed that she’s broken out into goosebumps, but right now she could care less.  
“As good as it could’ve.” She answers flatly. “We should go inside.” She mutters before kissing him on the cheek and standing up.  
“Are you sure you’re alright, love?” He asks, still sitting.  
“Yes, Killian. I’m fine.” He gives her a stern look, clearly challenging her statement. “I promise.” She insists, handing out her arm to pull him off the couch.  
“Do I look okay?” Emma asks, smoothing the front of her dress and trying to wipe off any residue tears that might’ve escaped onto her cheeks.  
“As beautiful as ever, love.”  
***  
“Emma!” Mary Margaret calls her name, her voice coupled with a frantic edge, eyes open wide. “Guess who’s here?” She says extra brightly, trying to mask her evident anxiety. Emma cocks her eyebrows inquisitively at her, when she suddenly goes blind by someone’s hands covering her eyes.  
Oh, no.  
“Hey beautiful.” Walsh’s voice greets her as he whispers into her ear. Suddenly Emma’s world goes black. She’s in such a catatonic state, this can’t possibly be happening.   
“Walsh!” she answers, hoping it sounds cheery instead of frantic. “I thought you were in Albany tonight.”  
“Ithaca. I couldn’t miss this though, not after I missed David and Mary Margaret’s wedding. So I decided to wrap things up early, pick up some Veuve Cliquots for the party, and head on over.” He answers with a grin, snaking his arm around Emma’s waist.  
“Come here you, I haven’t seen you in weeks.” He says and pulls her towards him, taking her aback with a kiss on her lips and a bone-crushing hug. His lips feel so strange on her lips now, he tries to part them with his tongue but she doesn’t let him. She needs to get away from him, she doesn’t want to touch him, and she doesn’t want to kiss him.  
“Someone is antsy. You’re not looking for an escape route are you?” He laughs as his lips leave her lips and press against her temple instead. She shakes her head to answer his question. Answering him is the last thing she cares about, all she cares about is the fact that she can’t find Killian anywhere. He’s not in her line of vision, nor is he anywhere in the room. Three minutes ago he was right beside her, so close that their hands were almost touching, and now she’s in the arms of her husband and all she wants is to tell Killian that she wishes it was he who kissed her in the middle of the room in a crowded party and not Walsh.  
Finally she sees him coming out of the kitchen, a bottle of Guinness making its way up to his lips. She gives him an apologetic look. She’d go over to him if it weren’t for the fact that Walsh has his arm draped so tightly around her shoulders that she’s basically anchored to his side. He finally meets her frantic gaze after what feels like an eternity. He smiles at her but it feels forced, strained. His eyes are dark, clearly annoyed. He scoffs to himself as he brings up the Guinness back up to his lips, downs what’s rest of it in one gulp, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.   
Killian moves to go back to the kitchen when David pulls him over to their general direction. David, Mary Margaret, Walsh and Emma (though not really Emma, she wasn’t listening at all) were in mid-campaign conversation.   
“Ah, who’s this?”  
“Walsh, I just wanted to introduce you to Killian. He moved here a couple of months ago, we were all good friends during undergrad.” David boasts, shoving a reluctant Killian towards the front. Walsh eagerly shakes his hand. Emma tries to squirm out of his arm still tightly slung around her shoulders. Mary Margaret looks like she’s about to pass out.  
“Pleasure, mate.” Killian replies, no trace of sarcasm in his voice.   
“So, you all met in undergrad then?” Walsh continues.  
Emma cannot believe this is happening. This just isn’t happening. It’s all a dream, she’s dreaming. She’s in Killian’s bed and she’s having a nightmare and she’ll wake up soon enough and he’s going to kiss her temple and tell her everything is all right. Yes, that’s what is going to happen.  
“Aye, when we all studied abroad.” Killian answers him.  
Why is Killian answering him? He shouldn’t be talking to her husband. Lovers do not talk to husbands. Emma is going to pass out she knows it.   
“Explains the accent.” Walsh continues.  
“Very intuitive.” Whoa, can Killian be a little less of an asshole? I mean, Emma doesn’t want him to be talking to Walsh but he could at least fake that he likes him. Right? Is that a thing that lovers do when they talk to their mistresses’ husbands?  
“Were you all good friends then? Or was it just you and David?” Emma really wants Walsh to leave, to shut up. She wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. This conversation just needs to end.  
“We were all pretty close.” Mary Margaret quips up. Emma can tell Mary Margaret is almost as frantic to end this conversation as Emma.   
“I’ll say! Walsh, Emma and Killian here used to have a bit of a thing back in the day.” David laughs.  
Suddenly, Emma wants to wring David’s neck.  
“Should I be jealous?” Walsh asks her, hugging her closer to him.  
“Not at all, mate.” Killian answers.  
“Em, I feel like you should tell me that your college sweetheart was in town.” Walsh continues, giving a hearty laugh.  
“We’re not college sweethearts.” Emma mumbles. Can she die now? God can smite her any time now. Really, she’d be super cool with it.  
“Are you kidding? They were inseparable.” David.   
David.  
“We’re just friends now, though.” Emma says quickly, shooting a look at Killian. She hopes he’ll say he has to leave, get another Guinness, anything to wrap up the conversation. Killian meets her eyes and meets her pleading glare, cocking his head inquisitively.  
“We work together now actually, spending almost every day together. Better be careful, mate, we might even rekindle our past love affair.” Killian answers instead, his usual playful banter back in his voice. Walsh laughs.  
Add Killian’s neck to the list of necks Emma wants to wring.  
“Do you now? Emma, should I be getting worried?” Walsh asks her teasingly.  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snaps, shooting daggers at Killian.  
“Yeah, all in the past.” Killian adds flatly.  
“I’m going to get a drink.” Emma says, turning on her heels and heading towards the kitchen.  
“Get me a beer, will you sweet-cheeks?” Walsh asks after her.  
“You got it, babe.” She replies flatly.

Emma needs to get out, she needs to run, she needs to breathe. She walks straight past the kitchen (grabbing a glass of champagne on the way out) and exits to the dark garden outside. The air is cool against her flushed cheeks, it pierces her lungs as she takes breath after deep breath. Emma finds the darkest corner and slides down onto the concrete.   
She can’t do this.  
Mary Margaret was right.  
She’s way in over her head.  
“Swan, get up.” Killian says, kneeling in front of her.  
Oh, for fuck’s sake.  
“Go away.” She mutters.  
“No.”   
“Go. Away.” She says forcefully this time. The last thing she wants is for anyone to be here. She needs to breathe. She needs to be alone. That’s how she works best.  
“Emma, you can keep saying that but I am not going anywhere.” He responds, tilting her face towards his, green eyes meeting blue.  
“Why not?” She asks him quietly.  
“Because I love you, you daft, senseless woman.” He rolls his eyes, smiling at her nonetheless.  
“Are you crazy? Don’t say that!” She whispers frantically, turning her face away from his.  
“I’ll say it whenever I want to say it.” He tells her, straightening up and helping her stand up with him.  
“My husband is inside, Killian.” She whispers, looking back at the door.  
“So? Do you want me to go in and tell him? I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him right now.” He turns her face back towards him. He’s close, too close. So close she can feel his warm breath on her cheek. The warmth in her stomach grows, all she wants is to fall into his arms and ask him to never let go.  
But Walsh is right inside, and try as she might she cannot let Killian kiss her right there. Walsh could see them at any time.  
“Killian, stop. Please.” She pleads quietly.  
“No, Emma. If I’ve learned anything tonight is that I can’t tolerate to watch him put his arms on you, kiss you, or call you his ever again. I need you to be mine, and only mine.” He sounds desperate, pained.   
“Killian…” Her voice trails off as his gaze meets hers. She can see his vulnerability; she can see his fear of losing her.  
“Leave him.” Killian says.  
“I can’t.” She wants to. She wants to leave Walsh, she does but this is all happening too fast. She feels the anxiety creeping up her chest, constricting, closing her windpipes.  
“You can’t?” He asks her incredulously.  
“I want to.” He lets a out a shaky breath. Meanwhile hers get shallow and she’s back to twisting the rings around her finger borderline at the speed of light.  
“Then do it.” Killian tells her.  
The door opens and they spring away from each other instinctively.  
“Emma! There you are sweet-cheeks! I was beginning to worry about you.” Walsh long legs close the gaps between them quickly. They’re done for. He has to know.  
“Walsh.” She says, her breath still shaky and shallow. Her voice is stuck in the back of her throat.  
“She’s fine, mate. She just had a small panic attack about the campaign we’re working on. Due Tuesday.” Killian covers for her.  
“Right, the marketing campaign. I just needed some air.” She’s so nervous she can’t even speak.  
“Em, are you okay? Do you want me to take you home?” Walsh asks her, concerned. He slides his arm around her, helping her keep steady. She meets Killian’s gaze and gives him a small smile as Walsh thanks him for helping her out.   
“You should get some rest, Swan.” Killian tells her, patting her on the shoulder.  
“Yeah, okay.” She mumbles.  
“I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.” He grins at her, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  
***  
“Did you have fun tonight?” Walsh asks Emma, sliding off his tie from his collar. They’re back in their dim, cold, dead apartment.  
“Yeah.” Emma says lightly as she starts wiping off residue makeup with a wipe.  
“Are you alright?” He asks her as he kneads his hand into her shoulder. She flinches, she’s not used to his touch anymore. It’s foreign and unwelcome.  
“I’m still trying to calm down from earlier.” She answers him. “You know, I wish you would’ve told me you were coming back today.” She continues, pulling down the comforter from her side of the bed and climbing underneath the covers.  
“Last minute thing, I thought I’d surprise you.” He says with a small smile.  
“I was definitely surprised.” She tells him, checking her phone.  
“So, can you indulge me for a few minutes?” He asks her as he stands in front of their dresser and takes off his cufflinks.  
“What do you mean?” She asks, not looking at him but instead answering a text from Killian.  
“I just want to catch up, I feel like I haven’t talked to you in weeks.” He says calmly.  
“Can it wait? I’m so tired.” She pleads.  
“It’ll only be for a few minutes, babe.” He contends.  
“Okay.”  
“How long have you been screwing, Killian?” The question comes out of nowhere, knocking the air out of Emma’s lungs in the process.  
“What? What are you talking about? We’re friends.” She says stoically, staring unwaveringly almost defiantly at him. Walsh nods and walks over to his briefcase, takes out a manila envelope, and drops it on the bed, directly in front of Emma.  
Her fingers tremble as she opens it and she takes out a packet of ten or fifteen photos. Photos of her having dinner with Killian, of them working together, late nights at the office, walks down the Meat Packing District, photos in his apartment, and photos of them laying naked on his bed.   
“You’ve been following me?” She asks quietly, angrily.  
“I’m a politician. You’re my wife, of course I had you followed.” He answers simply.  
“Walsh, what the fuck?” She asks loudly, anger seeping through her every pore.  
“I’m sorry. I’m the one being cheated on and you’re outraged?” He matches the tone of her voice.  
“You’re having me followed.” She spits out through gritted teeth.  
“And you’re cheating on me.” She wants to fucking kill him. She’s never felt so betrayed in her entire life.   
“Oh, like you’re such a saint!” She shouts, throwing the pictures at him.  
“It’s not my fault that I can keep my affairs quiet. You’ve been sloppy, Emma. Plain and simple.” She hates him. She should’ve ended it months ago.   
“You’re vile.” She’s shaking from anger and tears are prickling the back of her eyes. She wants to cry from rage.  
“How long?” He asks her. The fact that his voice is so calm and collected is riling her up anymore.  
“Since June.” She tells him.  
“Are you going to end it?” He asks almost in a singsong tone.  
“I wasn’t planning on it.” She responds, matching his tone. Walsh rolls his eyes.  
“Emma, end it. It’s election year, I cannot have and I will not tolerate a scandal.” His voice is firm and authoritative again.  
“I’m not ending it.” Emma is defiant, she will not be belittled by him.  
“Yes, you are.” He reaffirms forcefully.   
“I love him, Walsh. I’m in love with him.” There they are, all the cards are on the table, and she doesn’t care anymore. She slides out of bed and starts making her way to the closet to pick up a sweatshirt and slip on some yoga pants.   
She’s leaving him. Tonight.  
“Emma this isn’t a discussion. I’m telling you to end it or I will end it for you.” He rounds on her, grabbing her wrists forcefully. She can feel the bruises forming.  
“What if I don’t want to? What are you going to do to me, then?” She wrestles out of his grasp and tries to get back on her route to the closet. Walsh follows her and grabs her by the arm, yanking her back to him.  
Emma is terrified, but she won’t let on.  
She’s getting out of that apartment tonight.  
“It’s not what I’ll do to you, Emma. It’s what I’ll do to him.” Walsh’s eyes bore into hers, his thumbs digging into her upper arms.  
“I don’t appreciate your empty threats, Walsh.” She tells him through gritted teeth.  
“You don’t believe me?” He looks crazed and she’s terrified, but he lets her go. Walsh walks over to the dresser and gets a remote out from his top drawer. He turns towards her, presses the red button on the top, and the wood panel behind the bed moves down to show two twenty inch TVs embedded into the wall. When the screens light up there’s two opposing views into Killian’s apartment. One looks into his bedroom, the other onto his living room. Killian is sitting on the couch, giving his back to the camera. A scream dies in Emma’s throat as she notices a red laser circle appear on the back of Killian’s head.  
She turns toward Walsh feeling defeated, terrified, and willing to do anything to keep Killian alive.  
“What do you want?” she asks quietly.  
Walsh grins.  
“I knew you’d come around, baby.”


	10. Chapter 9

A week later Emma can barely recognize herself. As she stares at her reflection under the dim fluorescent lighting in the airplane lavatory, she can’t see a trace of who she is anywhere. All she sees now is stiff, heavily hair sprayed hair with too much volume, a beige dress and blazer that she would have never chosen for herself, and a string of pearls that Walsh bought her for their first anniversary. Her eyes are tired and red, the dark circles under her eyes are barely covered by makeup.   
She hasn’t cried yet. She doesn’t know why, she just hasn’t been able to. And it’s not like she has been able to keep Killian’s face out of her mind ever since she last talked to him. She should’ve cried already, but she hasn’t.

One week ago…

She didn’t sleep all weekend, she couldn’t. Walsh wouldn’t hear about her sleeping in the guest bedroom, and he certainly wouldn’t leave, so she was forced to lie next to him all night.  
Three straight nights. They were in bed together longer than they had been in the past year and a half, and Emma swore she would’ve felt safer sleeping on the street. She spent all weekend cooped up in the apartment, too numb to feel anything, too numb to want to. Walsh had laid down the law Friday night. Emma was to break it off with Killian, resign to her job, and dedicate her time to working on the campaign to promote his election. If Walsh ended up losing the election, they would file for divorce. However, if he ended up being elected to the senate, they were to move to D.C. and at the end of his term he would grant her divorce.   
Six years.   
Six years. That’s how long she would have to wait if Walsh ended up winning the election. That’s how long she would be at his beck and call, under continuous torment, faking a perfect life when on the inside she is wilting, dying, wasting away. While he was sleeping, she thought about leaving but there were men in black suits guarding the door. She was trapped, more than that she was terrified.   
Killian kept messaging her all weekend. He told her that he missed her, that he was worried, asked if she was okay, asked why wasn’t she answering him, and that he loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone before.   
And now Emma had to end it. She had to end it before it even had a chance to grow.  
Monday morning came faster than she wanted it to. Her usual commute felt longer than usual, even though she didn’t take the subway. One of the two security guards that were guarding the door was hired for her. He drove her to work and he stationed himself outside her office as she started to pack it up. She cannot bring herself to start packing up her personal items. She just stands behind the floor to ceiling window and watches the view she has of Manhattan. A view she probably should’ve spent more time admiring, because it was truly amazing.  
“Emma?” Killian’s voice glides into the office, interrupting her thoughts. Emma’s heart drops to her stomach. She feels bile run up her throat, the thought of ending this making her physically ill.  
“Killian, hi.” Emma greets as she turns around to see him. She smiles despite herself, forgetting for a moment what she had to do. He gives her a grin that melts her heart, she feels herself go weak at the knees.  
She can’t do this.  
“How are you feeling? I was worried all weekend when you wouldn’t respond to my messages.” He asks as he steps towards her and makes to kiss her. She turns her head at the last second, his lips grazing her cheek instead of her lips. Killian knits his eyebrows together and moves to cup her cheek with his right hand. Emma once again turns her head and walks away from him.   
She has to do this.   
She has to save him, she thinks as she wraps her arms around her chest. “Love, are you alright? What’s with all the boxes?” His voice has a confused edge as he looks around the room, noticing the cardboard boxes being filled up with books and miscellaneous office supplies.  
“I’m leaving.” She says without looking at him. She can’t face him and go through with this. She’s not strong enough. She’s not brave enough.  
“You’re what?” He moves towards her again but stops when she takes a step back.  
“I just handed my two weeks notice.” She mutters firmly, busying herself with filling up the boxes she brought.  
Make him believe you don’t feel anything for him, Walsh had said.  
“Love, what the hell are you talking about?” Killian is so confused. He scratches the back of his neck as he takes a step back and rests against her desk.   
“Killian, I resigned. I don’t work here anymore.” She hopes her eyes don’t give away her pain. She’s trying so hard to be as stoic and as unfazed by this whole ordeal as possible.  
“Swan, you adore this job.” Killian must have thought that something else was the matter because he stands up and walks over to her. He puts his hand on top of hers, stopping her from packing.  
“It’s not my job anymore.” She tells him forcefully. She tugs her hand from under his and returns packing.   
“Did you receive another offer? I don’t understand, love.” His voice is starting to sound exasperated and Emma can tell he’s trying to be as calm as possible with the situation. He doesn’t want to rush her. He doesn’t want to chase her away.  
Part of Emma wants to tell him everything and run away with Killian. She knows he’d do it, she knows he’d drop everything for her. He loves her as much as she loves him, and look at her now doing the same. She’s dropping everything to save him.  
But then she remembers Walsh’s crazed look on Friday and the way he told her that she couldn’t tell Killian the truth. That was the caveat. He’d grant her the divorce and he’d keep Killian alive, as long as she followed his every rule. She could not tell Killian that Walsh was threatening her and that Killian’s life was on the line.  
Break his heart and I’ll know that we’re on the same page. Do this and I’ll let you go. Do this and I won’t touch a single hair on his head and you’ll be free to be with him if that’s what you really want.  
“Please don’t call me that.” Emma tells Killian, not the first time she rejects the pet name, but certainly the first time she doesn’t mean it.  
“What?” She had said it with such disgust and such force that when she looked up and saw the way Killian was looking at her she knew she would not have any problem holding up her end of the bargain.  
“I’m not just leaving this job, I’m leaving Manhattan…I’m leaving you.” Emma almost wasn’t able to say it, but she did. She’s met with silence. Killian is back leaning against her desk, looking at her and mulling over her words.  
“Emma, what the hell is going on?” He says quietly, softly, slowly after a few moments.  
“Don’t you get it? I’m ending it. This thing between us is over.” She acts exasperated, making her voice sound annoyed.  
“This “thing”? Emma, I love you. You love me. We love each other.” He replies incredulously, his eyes wide and staring deeply at hers. His breathing is shallow and he’s gone pale. Emma really wants to bury herself alive.  
“I love Walsh.” She tells him quietly, dejectedly.  
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He responds, a hint of anger in his tone.  
“Killian, listen to me. It’s over. I love my husband. I’m staying with my husband.” She matcher her tone to his, it’s the only way to make him believe that what she’s lying about is the truth.  
“I don’t believe you.” He tells her simply.  
“Think what you want.” Emma snaps and goes across the room to pack the things on her shelves.  
“Emma, look at me.” He pleads somberly. He has come up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. When she complies and turns around she meets his sad blue eyes. He doesn’t say anything, he just stares and searches in her eyes for the truth. He’s always been able to tell what she’s thinking without asking. “What did he say to you? What is he threatening you with?” He asks quietly, his hand cupping her face tenderly.  
“He’s not threatening me. We spent this weekend together and it was amazing, it really made me realize how much I love him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it had to end this way.” Emma says unwaveringly after cupping his face with her hands.  
“You’re lying.” He responds, dropping his hand from her face. Emma walks around her desk and sits in her chair. She needs strength. She needs for this to end so she can start forgetting about it immediately.   
“I’m not. Killian, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” Emma pleads, running her hands through her hair and breathing deeply through the nose.  
“Emma Swan, I know you. I know your ins and your outs and I know how that stubborn head of yours works. I know that you wouldn’t be staying with him if he wasn’t threatening you with something. You are miserable with him.” He kneels in front of her now. It is easily palpable that he’s desperate and reaching the end of his rope. He lays his head on her lap and Emma can’t bring herself to comfort him. Her arms lie limp at her sides. She has to make him believe that she doesn’t love him. She has to break his heart. “Emma, I know you. Please tell me what’s going on, we can figure this out, love. I won’t lose you too. I can’t.” His voice wavers at the end and it shatters Emma’s heart to a million pieces. She can’t do this, she doesn’t want to do this, but she has to. Taking a deep breath she places her hands on his head and tenderly lifts it so he would look at her.  
“To lose me would imply that you once had me and we both know that I was never yours. Please leave.” Her voice was cold and nothing like her own, she couldn’t recognize herself even if she tried. Killian stares at her and narrows his eyes. He gives her a curt nod and stands up. Emma follows him to the door so she can close it behind him. He looks at her one last time before he leaves, his eyes empty and void of feeling. She’s leaning against the door, unable to close it, unable to let him walk out. They stay there for longer than they anticipated they would, Emma wanting to take everything back and Killian waiting for her to do so. His eyes hover over her outstretched arm that’s holding he door open.   
His eyes narrow and brazenly lock on Emma’s.  
“What is he doing to you?” He whispers, entering the room again and closing the door behind him.  
“What are you talking about?” She pleads.  
“He’s hurting you.” He contends, blue eyes big and frightened.   
“Killian, stop. He has nothing to do with this.” Emma shakes her head adamantly, taking a step away from him.   
“Yes he does, how else will you explain the hand-shaped bruise on your wrist?” He moves forward and takes her wrist in his hands. Emma winces momentarily as his fingers brush the bruised area.  
“That’s nothing. Please go, Killian.” She says quietly as she takes her wrist out of his grasp.  
“Emma, stop lying to me.” He tells her seriously, taking her face between his hands. They’re inches apart, his eyes looking intently into hers. He’s frightened for her.  
“Killian, please.” Her voice barely comes out as a whisper.  
“Swan, please tell me what’s going on.” His voice matches hers.  
“I can’t.” She tells him, feeling her eyes water.  
“Emma, tell me.” He repeats, an annoyed edge to his voice.  
“I can’t!” Her voice matches his now.  
“Why not?” He huffs impatiently, crossing his arms across his chest.  
“I can’t tell you.” At Emma’s emphasis of the word, Killian catches on almost instantly.  
“Write it.” He tells her, thrusting his phone into her hands. Emma pulls out a text message and types quickly, finishes, and thrusts the phone back at Killian.  
He knows. If I don’t end it, he’ll kill you. I can’t lose you. I need to end it so you can live.  
“But I can’t live without you.” He says his eyes widening incredulously at the message. Emma sighs and takes the phone back from his hands and writes a new message.  
It’s the only way he’ll give me a divorce. If he loses the election I’m a free woman.  
“And if he doesn’t?” Killian asks even more incredulously than before, eyebrows raised high. Rolling her eyes, Emma takes back the phone.  
I’ll be free at the end of his term. Six years from now.  
“Emma! Six years? That’s ridiculous!” He’s angry now, doing nothing to hide his exasperation at the whole ordeal. He moves to give Emma back the phone but she swats his hand away.  
“It’s the only way. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She tells him seriously, slightly annoyed at how lightly he’s taking the whole Walsh-Knows-And-He’ll-Kill-You information.  
“Emma, he’s not going to kill me. You’re overreacting.” He tells her rolling his eyes, as if he had just read her mind. Emma yanks back his phone from his hands and types again.  
He had us followed. He still has us followed. I saw that he was going to kill you, he has a sniper set out near your house. Killian, it’s not a joke. It’s real.  
“Emma, I love you.” He tells her plainly, as if that would solve all their problems.   
“I know but it doesn’t matter, I need to do this.” She dismisses him quickly, not really registering what he said, caring more about preserving his life than the conversation.  
“It doesn’t matter? Emma, I’m telling you that I love you and you’re just going to tell me it doesn’t matter?” He looks so hurt. That’s not what Emma meant at all.  
“That’s not what I meant--” She starts but Killian cuts her off.  
“No, it’s exactly what you meant. Emma I can’t recognize the person who’s standing in front of me. Emma Swan doesn’t give up! Emma Swan doesn’t let people bully her! I don’t know who you are, but you’re not the woman I fell in love with. The woman I fell in love with wouldn’t just give up.” He’s breathing heavily and anger is present behind his blue eyes.   
“Killian, please. We can make it work, I just need time.” She pleads, walking towards him and trying to hold his hand. He slips his hand out of hers. He won’t look at her.  
“I can’t give you that time, Emma. The woman I love would’ve fought for me, for us, and you’re not fighting. I just can’t be with someone like that, it’s not worth it.” He tells her seriously, still without looking at her. He walks towards the door as Emma dejectedly sits back in her chair. This can’t be happening.  
“Killian, please. I love you.” She whispers at him from the chair. He turns around and meets her eyes again. They’re dead, hollow eyes. The usual mischievous glint is not there anymore, it’s replaced instead by unfathomable sadness.  
“It doesn’t matter.” He tells her and just like that he walks out of her office and out of her life.

Back in the plane Emma is still locked in the lavatory, staring at this distorted version of herself in the mirror, and unable to rid herself of that last look Killian gave her. She wills a tear to come out, just one, but she is unsuccessful. Taking a deep breath, she runs her hands over the front of her dress before exiting the lavatory and making her way back to her seat in first class. She’s sitting a few rows behind Walsh on the opposite side of the aisle. As she walks towards her row, she can see the lights are on over his seat. She hears him whispering to Zelena next to him, who giggles and Emma knows that they’re not talking about the campaign at all. Emma rests her head against her seat. She’s trying to close her eyes and get some sleep in this redeye flight, but every time she closes her eyes she’s greeted by Killian and the look he gave her a week ago. Maybe she just won’t sleep tonight, it’s not like she has slept this past week either.   
It’s a little after three in the morning when they arrive at their hotel in DC. Emma and Walsh are sharing a joint double suite, perfect for her to sleep by herself and for Walsh and Emma to come out of the suite the next morning looking like they had no marital problems whatsoever while in reality he slept with Zelena the night before. That is something that he isn’t hiding from her anymore, his blatant affair with his campaign manager. It’s just another way for Walsh to show Emma that he always gets what he wants, that he certainly doesn’t care about her anymore, and that he is determined to make the next year (and possibly six) the worst of her life.   
That night after Emma locked the door that separated their suite, raided the minibar, and failed miserably at stifling Zelena’s moans coming from the other room, Emma finally broke. She had had shots of every single mini bottle of liquor the fridge carried and had locked herself in the bathroom in tow with all the blankets and pillows that she found in the room. She had then placed all the blankets and pillows inside the massive tub and climbed in with the bottle of red wine she found in the cabinet. Maybe she was drunk, maybe she was masochistic, or maybe she was both but while laying inside the tub in her makeshift bed, locked in a room where she couldn’t hear her husband having sex with his campaign manager for the second night in a row, Emma found herself looking through the pictures in her phone and sorting through Killian’s messages. She hadn’t heard from him in a week, longer than she ever had once he had come back into her life. Even after they slept together for the first time, and she kept her distance, Killian had messaged her every so often. Emma realizes that she missed Killian more than she thinks she has missed anyone before. Over the past few months, Killian had become her home, her go to person. Suddenly, Emma realizes that she had not only lost the love of her life but she had also lost her best friend, leaving her with a deep ache in her chest and an unshakeable feeling of loneliness. The last time she had felt this way was when her first foster family had returned her to orphanage. Looking at the last picture Killian and Emma took together, Emma’s breathing starts becoming shallow and her chest constricting tightly around her lungs. Her eyes start prickling and finally tears start flowing freely from them. She cries for what seems like an eternity, long enough that time stands still and she falls asleep soundly for the first time in a week.

***   
It has been three months and Emma feels like she can’t handle meeting another foreign diplomat or shaking the hand of yet another Super PAC investor. Emma thinks DC is beautiful and she’s been doing everything in her power to take advantage of the city, looking at all the monuments and spending hours at the different museums. She smiles and she waves at Walsh’s supporters, she’s been invited to dinners in fancier houses than she’s ever stepped foot in, but inside Emma feels her soul corroding away.  
As she sits on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial looking over to the Washington Monument, Emma wants to run to New York, she wants to jump into Killian’s arms, she wants her old job back, and for chrissakes she wants Walsh to stop fucking the campaign manager every single night in the room right next to hers. At least she had the decency to never bring Killian to her apartment, nor did she ever spend the night at his place. It’s making her go crazy, accepting this as her fate for the next six years. She says the next six years because every morning the polls come in favoring Walsh over his opponent by a landslide.   
Killian was right to leave her, she doesn’t know who she is anymore either. She was never one to accept what life handed to her if it didn’t make her happy. She was a fighter, she was a survivor. What is she now? She’s wasting away standing, smiling, faking a happy marriage next to Walsh while watching him live his life exactly the way he wants at her expense.  
But if she leaves, where would she go? Killian surely doesn’t want her back. She has not heard from him once these past three months. Granted, she hasn’t contacted him either, mostly because every time she decides she’s going to call him, her fingers ghost around the call button on her phone but she never goes through with it. She’s also too stubborn to ask about him when she talks to Mary Margaret, mostly because she’s too scared to hear that he’s moved on with his life and isn’t one bit as miserable as she is.   
Then again, maybe Emma’s happy ending lies within her being content with her own company.   
No Walsh, no Killian, just Emma.   
Maybe what she has to fight for is for her own happiness, and that lies with breaking free from Walsh’s grip. But the only way to break free of him was to gain leverage over him, and Emma knew just the thing to do.   
She was going to discredit him and give him the option to let her walk out a free woman, or his entire political career was going to go down the drain with a media scandal of his own making. Three months ago Walsh threatened her with hurting the person she cared about most in the world and as she tried to set him free, she still lost him. Tonight was going to be different, Emma decided. Tonight, Emma Swan was going to fight back.   
Knowing Walsh’s daily routine by memory, Emma sneaks into his room while he was out and strategically places a recording camera she had bought at a spy-inspired store that afternoon in it. She smiled to herself later that night as she heard the synchronized moans of Zelena and Walsh as for the first time they sounded almost like a symphony to her ears.   
The next morning Emma looks at the footage and is ecstatic to see that her plan had worked. There in her hands she had enough evidence to make the scandal stick, enough evidence for news stations to have something to talk about for the next couple of news cycles.   
Sweet freedom, Emma thinks, I can see you at last.


	11. Chapter 10

Emma waits and endures her situation until October, knowing fully that this was when Walsh’s election was at its most important peak and at its most vulnerable. For months she tolerated his taunting, uncomfortable sensible suits, and the tightness around her mouth from all her forced smiles. Her sleepless nights were accompanied by Walsh and Zelena’s lovemaking, and Emma was jealous not of her husband and his mistress, but of how much she missed how Killian made her feel. Speaking of Killian, Emma has lost almost every shred of hope of ever fixing things between them.   
Last July Emma had gone back to New York and spent time with Mary Margaret and David. Turns out that with a new house in Gramercy Park, also came the conviction to conceive and they had Baby Neal in mid-July. Emma had managed to wiggle herself out of her duties with Walsh, convincing him that letting her be with her friend and her new baby was amazing publicity for his campaign. It probably wasn’t, Emma just thought it’d be an amazing excuse to get away from this stifling new life she led.  
***  
Last July…

David picks Emma up at Grand Central with a bear hug and a huge grin on his face. Neither can believe how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other last. Emma asks him about his new life as a father, how Mary Margaret is doing, what’s been going on since she left. She wanted to scream if he knew anything about Killian, if he missed her, if she was going to see him, if he even cared about her, if he had found someone else.  
No, scratch that. She didn’t want to know about that last thing.  
In the car, David talks his head off. He tells her he hasn’t slept in the past weeks, he’s had to change more diapers in one day than he ever thought was possible to do. He tells her that Mary Margaret barely lets Neal out of her sight, and that she’s thinking of starting to work from home. She’s in full mom-mode, he says. Completely obsessed with the kid, he continues grinning widely.   
“Emma!” Mary Margaret greets as they reach the kitchen. Baby Neal is swaddled closely on one arm and a warm bottle of formula in the other. She’s visibly tired, but glowing nonetheless. The sight is so perfect it makes Emma break out in the most genuine smile she has been able to muster in the past six months.   
“Mags! Look at you, I’ve never seen you more in your element!” Emma replies, dropping her purse on the kitchen island and going over to hug Mary Margaret.   
“This is Neal.” Mary Margaret introduces, shifting the baby upwards and outwards into Emma’s outstretched arms.  
“I’m going to kill you for that name, you know.” Emma teases before cooing at the baby in her arms.  
“I know. I thought you might. But you know I’ve always liked it. It was either that or Leopold.” Mary Margaret replies while fixing the blanket around Baby Neal.  
“Which we were not naming our child after, no matter how much I like my father-in-law.” David adds with a laugh, bringing a bottle of root beer up to his lips.   
“So how’s everything been around here?” Emma asks nonchalantly, slightly swaying the sleeping Baby Neal in her arms.  
“Emma, just ask how Killian is.” David replies matter-of-factly, giving her a knowing look.   
“What are you talking about?” Emma asks flustered, knowing fully that there’s no use in trying to cover-up. Mary Margaret isn’t one to keep secrets for long, much less from her own husband.   
“Oh, David knows.” She adds right on cue.  
“Mags!” Emma chastises, Mary Margaret’s name coming out of her mouth with a tone of exasperation.  
“I can’t keep secrets, you know that.” She shrugs.  
“Please, like I even had to ask.” David adds, his voice sounding mock-insulted. Emma just stares at him for a second before rolling her eyes.  
“Fine, I’ll ask. How is he?”  
“He’s been pretty rough ever since you left, to be honest.” David concedes, one hand going to up to the back of his neck and the other placing the now empty bottle of root beer on the counter.  
“Totally depressed. He comes over a lot, likes to play with Neal. Makes him happy.” Mary Margaret adds, looking up to Emma from the kitchen stool she sits in, a sad small smile on her face.   
“Oh. And has he--”Emma can’t bring herself to finish the question. What right does she have to ask if he’s found someone else? What right does she have to deprive him of future happiness with someone else, someone available, when all she’s done is left him out in the cold thanks to her vindictive, slimy, husband.  
“Has he what?” David asks.   
“You know, found someone.” Emma says it so quietly that she doesn’t think they heard her until Mary Margaret replies.   
“No. All he does is work. All routine.” Mary Margaret tells her.   
“Routine?” Emma asks as she gives Baby Neal back to Mary Margaret and takes a seat in another stool.  
“Yeah, he works, he clocks out, he comes here about three times a week, he goes out for a drink on Friday, nurses his hangover on Saturday, and starts all over again.” David explains.   
“What does he do on Sundays?” Emma asks.  
“During the day? No idea. Normally he comes over for dinner in the afternoon, though.” Mary Margaret answers standing up and going to place the sleeping Baby Neal in the portable playpen in the living room.   
“But is he okay?” Emma asks shyly. She just wants to know that he’s okay, that he’s coping with the situation better than she is.   
“As good as he can be, Emma. He felt like he lost the love of his life, it takes a while to get over that.” David answers her truthfully, placing his hand over hers in a sympathetic nature.   
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Emma says quietly, half wishing she could reverse the clock and start over.   
“Well, it’s like I told you Emma. It ends one of two ways and it can’t possible end well if you’re playing with fire.” Mary Margaret adds sympathetically. Emma scoffs at her comment, fully aware of just how bad she has been burned.  
***  
Emma wakes up around eight on a Thursday morning during her visit with the Charmings, deciding to take a run. She leaves Gramercy Park around eight thirty, her feet guiding her around familiar neighborhoods. At first it’s hard to breathe, her sides aching. She’s rusty.   
Her mind races faster than how fast her feet could ever take her. Memories from the past year are zooming back into her mind. She misses her New York life more than she could ever express. She misses Killian. She hurt him, everything she feared feeling for herself for years, being left behind, someone she loves choosing someone else over her. She did that to him.   
She chose Walsh. At the moment it did not feel like she had chosen Walsh. When she was stuck between a rock and a hard place, it felt like choosing to protect him was equal to choosing him. She understands how he didn’t see it like that.   
She had the chance to stand up to Walsh, to break things off with him, and give herself a shot at true happiness. Killian was willing to be there for her, but the moment she was faced with a decision, with a fork in the road, she chose the wrong path.   
Her feet have dragged her up to the Upper West Side when she realizes just how long she has run. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she did not realize she had run four miles already. She had not realized that she had run all the way to her condo.   
She doesn’t go in, she decides. After she calls it quits with Walsh, this won’t be her life anymore. Instead, she walks to Central Park and sits down in the first free bench she finds, downing a water bottle almost immediately, smiling at the kids incredibly invested in a puppet show a street performer is putting up across from her.   
Emma decides to walk down the piers overlooking the Hudson River on her way back to Gramercy Park. She knows it’s a detour, but she just can’t get enough of the city. Her feet guide her again, her mind paying little to no attention to where she’s headed. She’s walked along these streets for so long that purpose and direction come as a second nature. She runs a bit more when she’s regained her composure, her feet leading her right to the familiar Meat Packing District.  
It’s around eleven in the morning now. Memories flood her, she wonders if she’ll see him. Emma wishes she knew what his morning routine was, that she had been able to experience breakfast in bed with him. He boasted so much about his omelets, she’s kind of bummed she never got to try them. Gods, she misses him.   
Emma walks into her favorite coffee shop, two blocks or so from his apartment building, craving some iced coffee to cool her down. It was high time she head back, nothing is more stifling than July in New York.   
She’s sitting outside the shop when she sees him again for the first time since he walked out on her office last December. He’s standing outside his apartment entrance, looking the opposite direction. Emma can feel her heart try to beat itself out of her chest. She’s rooted to the spot, not at all sure what her plan is at the moment. She almost drops her coffee and Emma has half a mind to throw herself into some bushes that grace the entrance of the building across the street.   
Gods, he looks incredible, Emma can’t help but think. Yes, there are visible dark circles that weren’t there last December, and his already lithe body is a little thinner than what it used to be, but Emma still thinks he’s the most attractive man she’s ever laid eyes on. His hair had grown out of the undercut fade he used to have and he had stopped shaving. He was wearing his thick square glasses, the ones Emma used to make so much fun of. Emma unconsciously presses her thighs shut, trying to put out the fire that was quickly forming between them. She knew the moment she saw him she might not know what to do and she had come up with different plausible alternatives. This unadulterated sexual desire for him wasn’t one of the alternatives. Her stomach keeps flipping, heat is pulsating throughout her core, and she swears the lady that’s sitting next to her can hear the beat of her heart.  
Emma can’t believe she’s been staring for as long as she has. Well, maybe since time seemed to stop when she saw him, it just seems like she’s been in this situation for a lot longer. She’s about to stand up and go to him, having resolved to put an end to this nonsense and talk to him and maybe kiss him senseless, when her excitedly beating heart plummets down to her stomach, lifeless.   
Emma stands up from her table and runs as fast as her legs can take her in the opposite direction, trying hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat and erase the memory of the leggy brunette who had just exited Killian’s apartment. Tears blurred Emma’s vision as she tried to rid herself of the fact that the brunette had thrown her arms around his neck as he circled his arms around her waist and kissed him goodbye. 

For most of her visit, Emma mopes. She spends most of her days switching between watching trashy reality TV and Mary Margaret’s entire collection of romantic comedies. It was a Saturday around noon when Mary Margaret tries to force Emma to leave the house and go for a walk. Emma had just finished watching Love Actually and had tear stained cheeks.  
“What is this Christmas in July? Emma, what are you doing?” Mary Margaret reprimands, a sleeping Baby Neal swaddled tightly on top of her chest. She takes the remote and turns off the TV.  
“I’m just relaxing and watching lovely movies about finding love in the most peculiar situations under ninety minutes or less.” Emma responds thickly after swallowing a wad of ice cream and stabbing the spoon forcefully back into the pint of rocky road.   
“Except, Love Actually is like three hours long and you’ve been crying for the last two.” Mary Margaret replies with a roll of her eyes as she starts picking up the bags of hot Cheetos that have cluttered her coffee table and shoving them down a trash bag.  
“It’s 136 minutes long, Mags. That’s two hours and sixteen minutes.” Emma replies, thrusting the DVD case underneath Mary Margaret’s nose.  
“You really need to get your life together.” Mary Margaret replies, clearly annoyed with Emma.   
“I don’t have a life.” Emma mumbles, sucking on the spoon.   
“Yes, you do. You’re just too cowardly to live it.” Mary Margaret snaps, taking the spoon and pint away from her and throwing the pint into the trash alongside the hot Cheetos.   
“Or I’m being threatened by my husband with the possible death of my ex, the man I truly love, who by the way wants nothing more to do with me and is possibly dating another woman. I have no job, no friends in DC, absolutely nothing to live for.” Emma whines dramatically, throwing the knitted blanket over her head.   
“Get over yourself.” Mary Margaret responds.   
“Excuse me?” Emma asks incredulously, green eyes peeking from the edge of the blanket. She has never heard Mary Margaret talk to her like that.   
“Get up, take a shower, and get over yourself. If you’re that miserable with Walsh put an end to it. If you want Killian back, tell him that you love him. I remember being in a similar situation years ago and you talked the same way to me. You’re getting nowhere by moping around.”  
“I’m waiting for the opportune moment to end it with Walsh.” Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, her right leg jutting out, and her arms placed menacingly on her hips.   
“Why?” Emma wants to desperately throw a cushion at Mary Margaret, but the sleep-deprived woman in front of her is not a person she wants to mess with.   
“Because I need him to be at his most vulnerable, that way he can’t possibly refuse.” Emma states defiantly.   
“And what about Killian? Mary Margaret raises her eyebrows inquisitively.   
“I don’t know. I know you said that he is not seeing anyone but that’s not the vibe I got on Thursday when I went jogging and I saw a stupid Victoria’s Secret type brunette with her arms all around him and kissing him.” Emma may sound bitter, but she’s not bitter. She’s not bitter at all. This doesn’t faze her.   
“That explains the last three days and I doubt that girl is serious, he would’ve told David about it already. He’s coming over to dinner tonight; he just called to tell me. I can dig around if you want.” Emma is over the conversation; she can’t sit here another moment and ponder what-ifs in regards to Killian. Mary Margaret may be the poster child for hope, but it’s not doing Emma any good.   
“Mags, I think I will take that walk.” Emma tells her, not intending to be anywhere near Killian in the state she’s in.  
“Will you be home for dinner?” Mary Margaret asks concernedly.   
“Don’t hold your breath.” Emma responds standing up and clearing up the mess she’s made.  
“You’re going to have to see him tomorrow, you know.” Mary Margaret says matter-of-factly.  
“Why?” Emma groans with discomfort. After her jog, seeing Killian is the absolute last thing she ever wants to do. Plus, what if he brings over his brunette bombshell? Emma is not sure she could handle that.   
“It’s Neal’s christening tomorrow, remember?” Emma did not remember, she forgot that her visit had a point other than getting away from Walsh. She locks eyes with Mary Margaret and notices unease behind the brunette’s eyes.  
“Let me guess. Killian’s the godfather?” Emma asks with a dry laugh and a run of her hands through her long blonde locks.   
“Is that okay?” Mary Margaret asks her sincerely.   
“Mags, I’m not going to tell you who gets to share godparent duties with me. It’s your baby, your choice.” Emma says after a few moments, not able to let her personal issues with Killian get in between Mary Margaret and David’s plans.   
“Yes, but are you comfortable with that choice?” Mary Margaret asks knowingly.   
“Absolutely.” Not. Absolutely not, Emma can’t help but think. 

****  
The next day she’s an emotional wreck. How is she going to go through with this? What if he brings Brunette Bombshell? What if he’s actually really nice with her? Would something happen to him if Walsh found out they were in the same room together? What if he’s an absolute asshole? How much concealer will it take to erase these goddamn dark circles under her eyes? She bets Brunette Bombshell doesn’t need concealer, she just wakes up as fresh faced and beautiful as ever.   
Emma settles on a fitting beige pencil dress and matching beige leather pumps. Her hair cascades down in loose curls, her lips are painted with a matte brick red lipstick, and her eyes sport a winged out cat-eye. She spends more than an hour getting ready, hoping that looking this fantastic would let Killian know that she wasn’t fazed by his presence.   
When she goes downstairs everyone else has gone. Mary Margaret, David, Baby Neal, and both sets of grandparents alongside David’s twin brother James were most likely already waiting at the church for the christening. The church was a handful of blocks away and Emma decides to walk. As she walks through the double doors of the church’s entrance, she’d be lying if she said the sight of Killian in his tailored navy suit didn’t knock the air out of her lungs.   
Emma notices that his jaw clenches the moment his eyes lock with hers. Gods, how she had missed those piercing blue eyes. She gives him a small smile and he nods at her, his chest rising slowly with the deep breath he takes. She feels instant gratification when doesn’t see any sign of Brunette Bombshell. Emma: 1, B.B.: 0.  
Emma consciously stays away from him until it’s inevitable to do so, until the priest calls the godparents and they stand up together. His hand instinctively goes towards the small of her back, leading her, guiding her, helping her up the steps. Emma feels as if she’s been burned, the piece of skin still prickling with the ghost of his touch as he quickly takes his hand off her. Emma can feel her heart in her throat, and she wonders if he can feel the same. Her breaths are shallow and so are his, his eyes never leave hers as they’re handed Baby Neal. They hold the baby together, their eyes never leaving the others. His fingers graze hers, sending goosebumps throughout her entire body, and the heat that she felt the other day starts to rise up from her stomach. It’s a surreal experience, how he’s so close to her, their hands touching, looking at each other more intensely than they ever have before.   
Whatever the priest says is muffled to Emma, and she suspects it is also muffled to Killian. She sees him swallow thickly, and she wonders how it would feel to have his stubble scratch her skin raw as she kisses him deeply. Clearly, these are not thoughts one should have in a church. The priest finally finishes and she breaks eye contact with Killian, standing back as he hands Baby Neal over to Mary Margaret and David.   
Back at the house, Emma feels like she can’t handle all this. Killian keeps making eye contact with her, and every time she feels herself go weak at the knees. She needs to go, she needs to get out of this room, needs to stop feeling like she needs air. She grabs a champagne flute on her way out and downs it in two gulps, placing it on a mantle piece as she turns to go up the stairs. She feels him behind her moments later, walking with as much fervor as she is. She just needs to get to her room; once she does everything will be fine. He walks past her and grabs her arm forcefully, dragging her into the nearest room he finds.   
He locks the door before he pushes her against the wall and presses his lips up to hers. His mouth is rough against hers, but also so very welcome. Emma almost melts into the kiss before she realizes that this kind of behavior isn’t welcome at all. The sole reason she broke it off with him was for her husband to keep him alive, and Killian shoving her into a linen closet, his mouth on hers, his tongue battling with her own, one hand tugging at her hair and the other palming her breast over her dress, is definitely counter productive.   
Emma pushes him back and automatically slaps him across the cheek. He staggers back a few steps, eyes wide, chest rising quickly with his shallow breaths. Suddenly she realizes that she doesn’t care, that after all this time he still wants her as much as he wants him. She walks towards him and while cupping his face with her hands she pulls him back into a searing kiss. He groans into her mouth, pushing her back against the wall. Her right leg props around his waist when he shoves his knee in between her legs and Killian uses the leverage to slip two fingers into her wet folds.  
“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He breathes into her neck before he starts pumping his fingers in and out of her, his thumb lazily ghosting against her clit, a moan threatening to escape from her lips. Emma’s legs feel like jelly at the time, and he’s the only thing keeping her standing. She can feel the familiar heat of an orgasm tugging at her abdomen, Killian’s handiwork threatening to push her over the edge. He senses it and pushes the top of her dress down her shoulders, exposing her white lace bra. It only takes Emma moments to start building up a sure fire orgasm the moment when he closes his mouth around her exposed breast, his mouth alternating between his teeth biting her nipple gently and his tongue flicking at it in synch. He nods onto her chest when he feels her breaths getting quicker, shallower, and whimpers start leaving her lips. Suddenly, white-hot pleasure erupts within her leaving her breathless, a scream muffled by his hand over her lips.   
Still in the daze of her orgasm, it takes Emma a moment to realize that Killian has turned her around, hoisted up her dress, and basically ripped off her matching white lace panties. Her inner walls are still throbbing when she feels him enter her from behind. Killian stills and rests his head against her shoulder.  
“Fuck. I missed you, Swan.” He mumbles, biting her shoulder lightly as he starts to buck against her. He slams into her harder and harder each time, making Emma relish in the absolutely sinful, painful, pleasure of it all. One of his hands still palming her breast, the other turning her face towards him and crashing his lips against hers. He bites her lower lip, making Emma moan rather loudly. He shushes her, and tells her to behave. She can feel that he’s close to his fall before he slips his hands to the front of her and his fingers start fumbling against her clit, adding delicious pressure to her pelvic bone. Emma feels her own wave of pleasure coming back. He thrusts into her a handful of times before he comes, bringing her over the edge with him.   
Emma goes to kiss him but he turns his face and slips into his pants instead. He runs a hand through his hair and waits for her to fix her dress. When she does he holds the door open for her and walks out after her.  
“I made a mistake.” Emma hears herself say. This whole experience seemed like a dream.   
“We both did. It won’t happen again.” He was talking about the sex, Emma realized. He moves to walk away from her before he hears her give an incredulous laugh that sounded more like half a sob.  
“I meant, leaving New York and going to DC with Walsh, leaving you.” She tells him quietly, trying to keep her voice from breaking. Call her foolish, but she half thought that this would fix things between them. He narrows his eyes at her.   
Killian nods and walks towards her. “That wasn’t a mistake,” he tells her quietly. “That was you giving up on us, that was betrayal. But I guess I should’ve known, because that’s what you’re best at.” Emma feels as though she has been slapped.   
She looks at him with her eyes big, tears threatening to well inside of them.   
“We’re done.” He says. Emma can’t bear to look at him. “I may not be able to control myself around you, but that does not mean that I want you. We are done.”  
He leaves her then. Emma stays rooted in the spot for a good solid ten minutes before Mary Margaret calls for her.

****  
Emma is back in New York in late November, renting a one-bedroom apartment in Lower Manhattan and working freelance for the time being. She has a meeting with a client in half an hour and she’s anxious. She instinctively goes to twist the rings on her fingers only to find that there are no rings there anymore. She has to keep reminding herself that there are no more rings anymore, no more attachments. When she came back from New York in late July she continued with her plan to wait until October to demand Walsh to grant her a divorce or she would spread the video of him and Zelena like wildfire, and call it A Night With The Washington Monument. He granted her request almost immediately and two weeks later he had no wife, no lover, and no job. Zelena having left him the second he lost the election to a senator from Upstate New York instead.   
As for Killian, she has yet to see him. After Emma told Mary Margaret about the incident in her linen closet, (which amongst other things Mary Margaret told her that they needed to “stop defacing her property! I mean really, have you no decency? Why can’t you have sex in your respective apartments???”), Mary Margaret has been kind enough to not schedule Emma’s dinner invites with Killian’s. And for Emma, for now, that’s okay. Right now her happy ending doesn’t need to reside in her love affairs with the men in her life or lack thereof. Her happy endings reside in herself, starting over a new page, and being brave enough to move on, and that’s more than she ever hoped for this time last year.


	12. Chapter 11

“Well, Mrs. Hamilton, I have to admit that taking you back after you left us so sporadically last year wasn’t my first choice. However, you were one of our best executives and our marketing department hasn’t been the same since you left. It seems that our bigger clients were rather fond of you and have frequently demanded that you return.” It absolutely irritates Emma to be addressed by her old married name. She really wants to erase every single memory of her ever being involved with Walsh. It’s been a pain in the ass, including spending six hours at the DMV on a Saturday, but after the divorce papers finally came in in January she was able to change her name back to her maiden last name.   
“I understand that this is all quite unorthodox, Ms. Mills, but I assure you that there is not place I’d rather be than back at RCM…and it’s Ms. Swan again.” She responds, slipping the name change at the end of the sentence half hoping her boss would brush it aside.   
“Oh, no luck with the senator?” No such luck. Regina lowers her reading glasses and eyes Emma sincerely.   
“Something like that, it was all kind of a one-sided agreement. Mostly all his sided, actually.” Emma replies rather nervously, tucking a few rebellious strands of blonde hair behind her ear. She really hates talking about her divorce. Seriously, just add it to her failed attempts at finding a home (and love and acceptance) with another person.  
“Men in power feel so easily emasculated, don’t they? You’re a strong woman, Emma. You’ll bounce back. I see the same drive in you that my boss saw in me before he taught me everything he knew. We should talk more, go out for drinks.” Emma kind of wants to laugh incredulously at the last sentence. Regina can’t be serious, can she? Emma has definitely looked up to this woman for the longest time, ever since they met at her first ever interview, she had done some reading in the company prior to her interview and Regina Mills had single-handedly made RCM what it was today, but Emma never thought Regina would want to be drinking buddies with her.  
“Are you implying that you want to be friends with me, Ms. Mills?” Emma asks incredulously but with a hint of mirth in her voice. Regina smiles at her knowingly. She takes a post it, writes her number on it, and slides it towards Emma.   
“Stranger things have happened. And from now on, call me Regina.”  
“Okay.” Emma smiles genuinely.   
“Forget the trial period or the freelance, come work with us full time again. Go down to HR and get your affairs in order, your office should be free by Monday.” Wow, really? All Emma expected was a freelance chance to see if she can prove herself into returning to her old job, not to return full time right off the bat. Maybe this would really be her year.   
“Welcome home, Emma.” Regina tells her earnestly.   
“Thank you.”   
***  
As usual Monday morning came full-force and quicker than she expected it to. Emma swings her legs over the edge of her bed and sits still for a few minutes, willing herself to wake up before she has to start getting ready for work. She goes through her usual motions and an hour later she is dressed and ready for work. For her return she chose wide-leg black slacks, black pumps, and a white collared shirt. She applied her favorite brick red lipstick, parted her straight blonde hair in the middle and tied it in a low ponytail. She calculated her outfit the night before for two reasons. The first was to say that she meant business, and the second was in case she saw Killian (though she plans to stay out of his floor and avoid him for as long as she can), he’d see just exactly what he had lost.   
Emma stops by a café close to her apartment before she starts her commute. She was early for work and she had a good half an hour to spare, so she decides to step in and order some coffee for the taxi ride. Divorce alimony can be really great, when your scumbag ex-husband was loaded.   
Emma smiles at the text she’s receiving from Mary Margaret, who’s now filling her in on Baby Neal’s ever developing quirks, when the man in front of her bumps into her with his elbow and knocks her phone out of her hands.  
“Sorry about that! Are you okay?” He tells her as he bends over to pick up her phone and hands it back to her. He’s tall, with light blue eyes, wavy dark brown hair, and beard coming in nicely.   
“I’m fine, thank you.” Emma says quietly, meeting his eyes briefly. She scrunches her nose a bit at his wearing of a brown leather jacket. She’s had one too many leather jacket wearing men come into her life and leave it upside down.  
“Wow, you look so familiar. Have we met before?” He tells her. Emma knows where this is going.   
“Sure I do, Sparky. We haven’t.” She replies, rolling her eyes. He laughs and threads a nervous hand through his thick hair.  
“You’re right. That was my lame attempt at striking up conversation with a woman as beautiful as you. Seems to be working.” He’s so full of confidence that Emma can’t help but crack an incredulous smile at this whole interlude.   
“Oh, my god. You’re terrible at this, did you know?” She tells him before moving up to the counter and going to place her order.   
“Not terrible enough, I’ve definitely charmed you. Let me buy you breakfast. This place has fantastic doughnuts.” He tells her, raising his eyebrows. He was incredibly handsome and he knew it.   
“Thank you but I’m perfectly capable of buying my own.” Emma tells him with finality. As handsome as he may be, she cannot deny that the feelings she harbors for Killian are still present inside her heart (even though they’re currently mixed with a pinch of hatred).  
“So, what do you do?” He asks her after she places her order. He sits at a nearby table and motions for her to sit down. She decides to stand instead.  
“I’m a tour guide.” She lies through her teeth and she can tell he knows she’s lying.  
“Best dressed tour guide I’ve ever seen.” He follows her ruse dutifully.   
“I’m lying.” Emma concedes.   
“I know.” He replies, motioning again for her to sit down across from him. Emma is not one to trust people easily, but his banter has been amusing and she has nothing better to do than wait for her coffee.   
“What about you?” Emma asks as she sits down in front of him.  
“I’m a writer.” He answers. The way he’s looking at her would make anyone feel flustered, but Emma feels flattered. She needs the distraction.   
“Anything I’ve read?” She asks him.   
“Not unless you’re a GQ subscriber.” He answers her before extending his hand and continuing by finally introducing himself, “I’m August, by the way.”  
“Nice to meet you, August.” She takes his outstretched hand and shakes it.  
“Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t want to know your name.” He replies sarcastically, a smile reaching his light blue eyes.   
“It’s Mary Margaret.” Emma tells him, barely able to keep a straight face.  
“You know, Mary Margaret, if you keep lying I’ll have to think twice about asking you out like I want to.” August tells her with a dry laugh.  
“I’m not lying.” Emma responds, playing the part of incredulous victim.   
“Grande dark roast coffee with cream for August!” the barista calls. August stands and approaches the counter to take his coffee. He sits in front of Emma again, taking the lid off the cup and pouring in sugar. He stirs it in looking at Emma defiantly. I dare you to keep avoiding telling me your name, his look says.   
“I’m not lying to you, that’s really my name--” She starts but she’s cut off by the barista calling out her order. “Venti, triple shot, hazelnut mocha for Emma!” August’s eyebrows shoot up inquisitively and Emma struggles to keep a straight face.  
“Is that you?” He asks her, fully knowing that the barista is calling her order.  
“No.” Emma replies, still struggling to keep a straight face. She doesn’t know why she’s still keeping this game up, but she’s adamant to keep it up for as long as she can.   
“You look like an Emma.” He tells her nonchalantly, taking a sip of his coffee and opening a discarded newspaper someone had left behind, reading over it, and tucking it into his leather satchel.  
“That’s not my name.” Emma tells him.   
“Someone is going to take your coffee.” He responds, standing up and gathering his things to leave. Weirdly enough, Emma doesn’t want him to leave. She’s having fun.   
“Fine. It’s Emma.” She tells him and she stands up to go get her coffee from the counter. August follows her and takes a coffee cup sleeve and a pen and writes down his number.  
“Well, Emma. This has been a great start to my morning and if you ever want to lie to me again, this is my number. I’m not saying you have to call me. I’m saying you should definitely call me.” He hands over the sleeve and winks at her. Seconds later, he’s gone and Emma is admittedly in a daze. 

***  
Emma arrives at her office fifteen minutes before she’s supposed to. Her old assistant Ruby greets her with a warm hug and tells her how she’s so glad that Emma is back, because the old exec was an absolute nightmare. Emma can hardly believe that she’s back in her office, her home, what she truly excels at. She tells Ruby to hold her calls and meetings while she gets ready and tallies up the workload that she has to tackle. Ruby and Emma stay in the office all morning trying to make sense of what the old exec did and which projects needed to be prioritized in order of importance and due date.   
“So are you okay?” Ruby asks Emma as she settles different marketing reports into groups.  
“What do you mean? About the divorce?” Emma replies, pasting sticky notes on top of the most important reports.   
“Yeah.” Ruby responds. Emma knows that she’s looking at Emma tentatively, treating her like a ticking time bomb. Which, to Emma, is understandable. Ruby knows that Emma has had her fair share of heartbreak in the past and in addition, Ruby was the principal witness to Emma’s decaying marriage.   
“Oh, I’m great. Trust me, I am so glad I got out of that when I could. I was so miserable.” Emma smiles at her sincerely, before going back to deliberating the importance between two different movie marketing reports due in the next month. Christ, the last executive really did a shitty job.   
“I know you were, I just wanted to know if you were okay being back here is all.” Ruby tells her.   
“Why do you say that?” Emma asks, looking back up at her.   
“Well, Killian still works here.” Ruby answers matter-of-factly. At the mention of the name, Emma tenses up. She knew she had to face Killian sooner or later, she just hoped it was later.   
“So?” Emma asks, attempting to brush the subject aside.   
“Emma, I know you two had something going on!” Ruby exclaims, crossing her arms against her chest and staring intently at Emma, daring her to defy her statement.  
“Were we that obvious?” Emma asks quietly. Ruby smiles and shakes her head.  
“Well no, but, it becomes kind of obvious when you see your boss and the creative director of advertising making out in your boss’s office when you go upstairs to get your purse after the company holiday party.” Ruby answers her sitting down in the chair across Emma’s desk.   
“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Emma nods, smiling despite herself. Emma had forgotten about that night. She doesn’t see how she could’ve. Memories flood her mind as she remembers how Killian had had one too many drinks that night and he kept inching closer to her with every passing moment. How he whispered in her ear to meet him at the elevator and she obliged, how he took her hand and brought her to her deserted department floor and locked them in her office. She remembers him digging in to his pocket and producing a wax mistletoe sprig out of it, before he pressed his lips against the base of her neck. She remembers breathlessly asking him where he got it and him pulling back, fixing on her eyes a hazy gaze, and simply telling her that he “nicked it.”   
“You’re such a pirate.” She had told him. She could feel his lips curving into a smile against her neck, biting it softly before pulling back again and grinning at her.   
“I do enjoy the finer pleasures in life.” He had told her, brushing her hair from her forehead, punch drunk in love with the moment. “And you don’t seem to mind me being a petty thief.” He continued ghosting his fingers down the side of her face, till they had found her lips, finally her chin, pulling her lips to his.  
“I really don’t.” Emma had breathed against his lips, relishing in how good it felt to have his body pressed up against hers, his strong hand cupping her ass and the other buried in her hair. Emma remembers how wild, almost feral, that kiss was. They kissed for a good time, with her sitting on her desk and her legs wrapped around him. That was the last intense moment they shared until last July in Mary Margaret’s linen closet.  
“So are you guys together now?” Ruby asks, snapping Emma out of her reverie.  
“No. It didn’t end in the best terms.” Emma answers flustered.   
“Oh.” Ruby responds softly.   
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” Emma tells her with a degree of finality.   
“I respect that.” Ruby nods. Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and as Emma looks up she swears her breath is knocked right out of her lungs. Later, she wanted to face him later.   
“Am I interrupting something?” His lilting voice travels into the room. Emma really isn’t ready for this, but she puts up the front. Goddammit, she thinks, he looks so good. His stubble is dark, his navy blue shirt making his eyes pop behind his thick lashes.   
“Yes, actually. Killian I have a lot of work to do.” She answers him, she thanks gods above that her voice sounds strong and commanding and doesn’t waver like jelly with the anxiety she feels.   
“This will only take a second. Ruby, can you leave us alone for a moment?” He snaps at her, clearly he is in the same mood Emma is. Ruby stands up and starts to move towards the door.”  
“Ruby, don’t go anywhere.” Ruby stills and looks at Emma with wide eyes. She clearly doesn’t want to be in the middle of whatever is about to happen. “Killian, I have way too much work to do right now. Maybe later.” Emma tells him with finality.   
“Let her go, Swan. I just need a moment to discuss some creative issues with you.” He says as he struts into the room and walks right up to Emma’s desk. He stares at Emma’s eyes, blue eyes alight with tepid anger.   
“Emma, I’m just going to go, okay?” Ruby’s voice comes from behind Killian.   
“Fine.” Emma responds as she hears the click of the door closing. “What can I help you with Jones?” Emma uses her most formal tone, the one she reserves for megawatt clients, as she decides to keep sorting marketing reports and not giving him the slightest importance. She feels his eyes burning a hole into the top of her head and she can hear him trying to steady his breath. She looks up at him through her reading glasses with a raised eyebrow.  
“What are you doing?” He asks, anger present in his voice.  
“I don’t follow.” She replies, putting down the marketing report and crossing her arms across her chest.  
“Well, imagine my surprise when I go to call the marketing executive and see the name “Emma Swan” in the call list.” Oh, so he is mad that she’s back. A sickly sweet smile slowly creeps into Emma’s face.   
“Regina gave me my job back. I really don’t see where there could be any confusion.” She tells him, with an air of indifference.   
“Yes, I can quite see that you have your job back. My question is ‘why?’” He asks Emma, trying hard to keep his voice down. She calmly stands without answering him, and instead walks over to her Keurig machine and makes herself a cup of coffee. She raises a cup to him offering him one, he shakes his head. She shrugs and continues preparing her cup, before she turns toward him resting against the banister. He’s so angry, that Emma is almost amused.   
“I don’t owe you any explanations, Killian. You made that perfectly clear when you fucked me and then told me that you wanted nothing with me. We’re done, remember?” She tells him coolly, surveying him quietly as she brings the cup of coffee up to her mouth purposely with her left hand. She sees him focusing on her ring-less finger.   
“I see you’re not wearing your wedding band anymore. Did you finally divorce Walter?” He asks her casually.   
“Once again, I don’t owe you any explanations, Killian. We’re done. If I’m divorced or not, what I choose to do with that information is up to me and right now I don’t feel like telling you. There’s nothing between us anymore.” She shakes her head, and places the half empty cup of coffee on top of the banister. She doesn’t feel him move but once she looks back up at him, Killian is mere inches apart from her.   
“You can’t be here, Swan.” He tells her quietly, his voice strained, almost pained.  
Emma is so angry. How dare he come in here and tell her what she can and can’t do? It’s very easy to shift the blame to other people, Emma thinks, but he has to understand that he isn’t without fault here, and he certainly isn’t the only one who suffered in the past year. Yes, she ended things with him. Yes, the moment he asked her to leave her husband, she said she didn’t know if she could. Yes, absolutely yes, she hurt him, by choosing to leave with Walsh, and by not trusting him enough with what she was being threatened with. But she did all these things with the intention of protecting him, since her husband turned out to be a manipulative, psychotic asshole. And then when she apologizes to Killian for hurting him, he uses her body as a place to fuck away his frustrations and leaves her out in the cold.   
And now he comes back and is trying to tell her what she can and can’t do?   
Absolutely not.   
She inches towards him, closing the gap between them. Their faces are so close that she can feel his breath warm on her cheeks.   
“What’s the matter, Killian? Will I be too distracting for you? Are you afraid you won’t be able to control yourself with me around?” She tells him quietly, her green eyes locked with his blue. She can feel his breath quickening, his eyelids threatening to flutter shut. Emma even swears she can hear his heartbeat thumping quickly.  
He’s still in love with her.   
“Don’t flatter yourself, love. You can’t handle this.” He tells her, stepping away from her.   
“Maybe it’s you who can’t handle this. Clearly, being close to you is making one part of you extremely happy to see me.” She smirks. “Get out. I’ll see you at the next quarterly meeting.”   
Five minutes after Killian leaves her office, Emma is on all fours, digging through the bag of trash filled with old reports in the corner.  
“Emma, what are you doing?” Ruby asks her concerned.  
“Taking my life back.” She answers determinedly, mumbling an “A-ha!” when she finds the coffee sleeve she was looking for. Standing up, Emma smoothes her shirt and walks towards her desk, shooting a bemused Ruby a smile as she takes the phone up to her ear and dials the number on the sleeve.  
“August? It’s Emma from the coffee shop this morning. Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to get lunch sometime?” she pauses, a smile easily creeping up on her face as she hears August talk.  
“Tomorrow sounds perfect. I’ll text you my information.” Emma hangs up with a smile and Ruby grins at her from the door. Emma Swan was back and Killian Jones can eat his heart out.   
***  
On paper August was perfect. He was fun, spontaneous, courteous, and always willing to make Emma laugh. Additionally he was perfectly okay with keeping his and Emma’s relationship casual. When Emma is with him she feels carefree and has no worries. She almost forgets whatever troubles her. But, as laid back and as fantastic August is, (their first date was lunch at a food truck five weeks ago) Emma has had a hard time finding the desire to forget about Killian and finally move on. She knows she has to do it, but it feels so wrong to do so, not to mention virtually impossible. What Killian and she had was a great love. How does one easily get over great love? Are we supposed to rip the memory off like a Band-Aid and keep moving forward? Or is it okay to pick at the memory until it scabs over, time heals the wound, and we grow indifferent to the scar?  
It’s what he wants, Emma thinks. Killian said they were done and she would respect that. Was she still in love with him? Absolutely. Was she still mad at him? Even more so. She hurt him, she knows, but as far as she’s concerned, he hurt her right back when he used her body and then discarded her like trash.   
Maybe they’re too far-gone? Maybe love has an expiration date and after one too many bad days it begins to turn bad. Maybe they actually are done, and it’s for the best.  
But if they are over, why does he keep looking at her as intently as he does? Why does he too look like he feels the need to push her against the wall and have his way with her every time they are in the same room?  
Emma sighs exasperatedly. Her thoughts have been so clouded lately that it takes her hours to get through a simple marketing plan. She closes the bounded report and presses the heel of her palms to her eyes.   
She needs to go, she’ll just put in some hours into the report during the weekend. Emma stands and starts to get her things ready before she heads over to the bathroom to freshen up and reapply her make-up. August wanted to take her out tonight, and a few minutes ago he texted that he was already on his way. She exits her office, turns off the light, and heads down to HR to clock out.   
She meets Killian in HR when she gets there; he’s standing in front of her in the line to clock out. It’s odd to see him out of his office before nine, let alone clocking out at five. Not that she’s checked so she can find the perfect times to avoid him or anything. She’s still so in love with him, every time she sees him, Emma gets a sharp pain in her chest. Killian sees her and probably senses her unease or forgot that their relationship didn’t end up badly, because he offers her a tentative smile, which she tentatively returns.   
“Hello, Swan.” He greets, his hand scratching nervously at the back of his neck. Emma hasn’t talked to him since she kicked him out of her office over a month ago. He’s been avoiding her too, sending his assistant, Jefferson, to meet with her in his stead whenever there’s a meeting scheduled between the two departments.   
“Hi.” She replies, wishing she didn’t sound like such a mouse. “You’re out early.” She continues.  
“Aye, I’ve got dinner with the Charmings tonight.” He responds as he inches forward behind the line of people waiting to clock out.  
“Right. It’s Friday. Your turn.” Emma says. Gods, this is so awkward. She can’t even bear to look into his eyes for more than two seconds, and even that feels like an eternity.  
“You look nice. Are you going out?” Killian asks her, failing miserably at hiding the intense curiosity behind his eyes. Emma is taken aback by the compliment and the question. Does he still care?  
“Oh, thanks. Yeah I’m meeting someone for dinner.” “Make him jealous! Make him jealous! Make him jealous!” Her mind chants.   
No, she answers herself. There’s no point to do so. They’re over.   
“Oh, have I met her?” On second thought…  
“No, I don’t think you’ve met him.” Emma responds. He stands still after he feeds the machine his time card. Emma has to nudge him to be able to clock herself out.   
As they exit the building, Killian walks quietly next to her and Emma can practically hear his mind racing. August is waiting outside the building when they reach the front. He stands leaning against his bike reading a book. That man, Emma swears, he’s always reading.  
August flashes Emma a huge grin when he sees her, making her giddy and nervous. She turns to Killian who stands stoically next to her, a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw directed at August.  
Emma closes her hand gently around Killian’s arm, a sad knowing smile gracing her delicate features.  
He still cares about her.  
“Hey.” She starts softly making Killian’s eyes meet hers. “Have fun with Mags and David tonight, okay? I’ll see you Monday.” She finishes quietly and sincerely. Killian’s eyes soften and he offers her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  
“Will do, Swan.” Killian watches her leave towards August. He watches as August gives her a peck on the lips, hands her a helmet, and she swings her legs over to sit on the motorbike. August starts the bike and Emma circles her arms against his waist, she turns to look back at Killian, but he’s gone. 

***  
They have dinner at an Italian seafood place near the docks that Emma has never heard of. From the outside the place looked dingy and shady and Emma kept teasing August that she was going to get food poisoning. Going through the doors, however, they find a small but fancy place with linen tablecloths. It’s dimly lit with chandeliers and it’s undoubtedly romantic, faint Italian opera plays in the background. Emma gapes around the room, taking it all in as August takes off her coat.  
“You really need to be less judgmental, Emma.”  
“Shut up.” She tells him, rolling her eyes at him.  
They spend a good two hours there, talking, eating, and drinking the house wine. The food was ridiculously good. Emma had settled on the shrimp scampi and August had squid ink risotto. They’re sharing a tiramisu when August speaks up.  
“So, who was that guy that you were with when I picked you up?”  
“Killian? Just a coworker.” Emma replies trying to brush the subject off quickly.  
“Just a coworker? Emma, if looks could kill I’d be six feet under right now. Is he your ex?” He asks, raising his eyebrows encouragingly. Emma mulls over the question while sucking the tiramisu off the spoon.  
“Kind of.” She replies with a sigh.  
“What do you mean ‘kind of’? You either dated or you didn’t.” August scowls animating his question with his spoon.   
“We’ve dated more than once.” Emma starts.  
“Your point?” he asks and Emma gives him a deadpan look, prompting him to quickly apologize. A filtering system is not a fixture that August possesses. He always says what’s on his mind. “It’s given me many a slap from an insulted woman.” He says.  
“Well one was almost ten years ago…” Great, now she has to explain that she was unfaithful to her husband. Which, incidentally, is an amazing topic of conversation when you’re meeting someone new.  
“And the other?” She really doesn’t want to answer him. But she has to own up to the fact that she was unfaithful to Walsh, regardless of the situation.  
“It ended about a year ago.”  
“And you’ve been divorced give or take two months?”  
“Yes.”  
“So, you’re a cheater.” There it was.  
“Technically, but it’s much more complicated than that.” Emma snaps, causing August to laugh.  
“Settle down, Emma. I’m not accusing you or judging you. I’m not a saint either, you must’ve had a valid reason.” Emma gives him half a smile and dips her spoon back into the tiramisu.  
“So, what happened.” He prods.  
“I don’t want to bore you with my sob story.” She replies.  
“Hey.” August says softly, his hand stretching towards her and grabbing hers with a gentle squeeze. “You could never bore me. And as for the sob story, I’d really love to know more about you Emma. The good and the bad.” He’s serious. No mirth or mischievous glint beneath his pale blue eyes. He wants to get to know her and for the first time in her life, Emma is willing to let someone in through the front door. No need to turn down the walls this time around.  
“Okay.” She answers before telling him everything. How she had met Killian and how she ended up with Walsh. How Walsh cheated on her from day one and basically abandoned her for half the marriage. She tells him how borderline suicidal she was and how Killian came back from the past and basically saved her. How Walsh found out about her affair, verbally and physically abused her, threatening Killian’s life unless she ended it and moved to D.C. with him. How she played the role of dutiful wife with Walsh while he screwed around with his campaign manager all night in the room next to hers. She finishes by telling him that she thought she had mad the right choice by opting to save Killian’s life rather than risk him being hurt but that he didn’t see it that way, and now he wants nothing to do with her. So, now Emma is starting over after picking up all the pieces of her messed up life and choosing herself over pleasing every one else.   
“Wow.” August exhales, his hands squeezing hers reassuringly. “C’mere.” He beckons her, patting the space of booth that’s free next to him.  
“Why?” she asks, emotionally drained.  
“Emma, just…come here.” She obliges, telling him to move over and sliding into the booth next to him.   
“Okay, I’m here.” She says expectantly. He gives her a rueful smile as his hand creeps up to her chin. “I’m not going to promise you anything.” He tells her looking straight into her eyes, “I’m not going to hold you to anything, either. I want to make you happy for as long as you’ll let me, be it a day or a week, or however long you feel comfortable with.”  
“You don’t have to do that.” She says.  
“I want to. Emma, I think you’re incredible. I do, but I also understand what it’s like to feel the eternal paradox of wanting to be alone but hating being lonely. I want to be here for you, for as long as you want me to be.” He answers her, brushing strands of rebellious blonde hair behind her ears. “I know this isn’t serious, it’s just casual, but I still want to be there for you. Will you let me?”   
Emma nods and lets August kiss her, his hand cradling her neck. His lips are soft and full, his touch caring and thoughtful. That night, in her apartment, Emma has sex with him. While it was nowhere near the passion she felt when she was intimate with Killian, Emma appreciates it for what it was. As August moved inside her that night, she knew she had made a right choice in calling him, in opening up to him. This time she wasn’t intimate with someone because she needed it to feel worthy of attention that she lacked, she didn’t do it because she had a void and empty shell of a heart that just needed to feel wanted. She did it because she wanted to, because it felt right, because it was high time that she let go of everything that tied her to the past two years. And she wasn’t doing it to let go of Killian, or the love she still feels for him, but to let go of all the pain she experienced and all the mistakes she made. She was starting fresh and beginning again.


	13. Chapter 12

“So where have you been?” Mary Margaret asks three weeks later while they have Sunday brunch at Granny’s.   
“What do you mean?” Emma knows what Mary Margaret means. Between working long hours and spending endless nights rolling in the sheets with August, Emma has practically gone completely off the grid.  
“What I mean is that you’ve cancelled the last three dinners we had planned this month.” Mary Margaret responds haughtily, practically stabbing her eggs benedict with her fork.  
“I’ve been busy!” Emma deflects.  
“Yeah, okay. With what?” she asks incredulously.  
“You know, work and other things.” Emma mumbles.  
“What other things?”  
“Just other things, Mags! Jesus.”  
“You know last time you were this ‘busy’, you were off fooling around with Killian. Don’t tell me that you’re off seeing someone new.” Mary Margaret scoffs incredulously, stifling a chuckle as she brings her glass of mimosa back up to her lips.  
“Is seeing someone new so hard to believe?” Emma responds, failing at masking the hurt from her voice. Mary Margaret’s eyes widen as big as saucers.  
“Wait, are you?” she asks, a hopeful smile forming on her lips.  
“Maybe.” Emma responds, not meeting her eyes.  
“Emma! You can’t just keep things like this from me! Can I tell David? What’s his name? Is he cute? What does he do?” The brunette spews question after question, excitedly.  
“Mags! Breathe, please.”  
“Sorry.” She chuckles nervously.   
“It’s fine. Look, it’s really not that serious. His name is August Booth, he works at GQ, I think he’s very cute, and sure, tell David.”  
“Does this mean you’re over You-Know-Who?” she asks tentatively.  
“I was not aware that I had a thing with Voldemort, Mags.” Emma responds sarcastically, earning an eye roll from Mary Margaret.  
“I meant Killian.”  
“I know who you meant.” Emma responds quietly.  
“So are you?” Mary Margaret asks her.  
“I’m getting there.” Emma tells her. The brunette smiles at her knowingly, her eyes full of sympathy. The truth is that Emma isn’t over Killian, as much as she likes spending time with August, it just isn’t enough.  
It will have to be. It’s over.  
“Hey,” Mary Margaret starts, her hand closing over Emma’s, “you should bring August over next weekend.”  
“What’s next weekend?”  
“David’s birthday! You’re coming, right?”  
“Oh, yeah! Of course I’ll be there.”  
Brunch ends with Emma and Mary Margaret going over to Mary Margaret’s town house and spending time with Baby Neal, who by now is crawling nonstop and talkative in the babbling way that babies his age are.  
After hours of playing endless peekaboo, coloring, and a stroll through Gramercy Park, Baby Neal finally starts winding down for naptime around five. Emma is watching over him while Mary Margaret and David take a well-deserved nap when the doorbell rings.   
Emma opens the door only to find a rosy-cheeked Killian on the other side of the doorstep.  
“Swan.” He greets surprised. Pleasantly surprised? No, Emma decides, she must be imagining it.  
“Killian, hi.” She answers flustered, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, nervously.  
“Hi. Can I come in?” he asks with a laugh. A nervous laugh? No, Emma decides, don’t be silly. “Where is everyone?” He continues as he takes off his sports coat and hangs it in the closet.  
“Napping.” Emma answers. God, how does she always get roped into these situations? She doesn’t even know how she’s supposed to act here. They’re not friends anymore, and certainly not lovers, yet he seems to be perfectly willing to talk to her normally and spend time with her.  
Maybe he is, Emma doesn’t know. She thinks that it could be that but that it could also definitely be that he has no other choice and he’s just being polite.   
“I guess I’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon with you, then.” Emma hates how the unruly butterflies in her stomach woke up and started fluttering at the prospect of spending time with Killian. He shoots a tentative grin her way, testing the waters.  
“Yeah, I guess so.” She responds, willing her heart to slow down to a less tachycardic rhythm.   
“Where is the little man?” he asks walking into the living room and going straight for Baby Neal’s playpen.  
“No, don’t! He just went to sleep.” Emma whispers urgently as Killian starts to bend over the playpen to pick Baby Neal up. It took forever to get the kid to sleep, and she was not about to let him thwart that achievement. No matter how bad her ovaries would appreciate the sight of Killian with a child in his arms.   
Killian nods at her and raises his arms in mock surrender. He grins at her when he notices that his action made her face break into a genuine smile. They stand in the family room smiling, coffee table barricading them away from each other, and unable to say a word. Emma is the first to break the silent spell. She turns away and sits on the love seat taking back the book she was reading before Killian had knocked at the door.  
“What’s the book about?” he asks her from the sofa.  
“Fairytales.” She answers simply, her eyes not leaving the page.  
“Didn’t peg you for that type.” He says. Emma recognizes the tone immediately, he used it on her many times before, back when they were together and he teased her every chance he got.   
“I was reading them to Neal before he fell asleep. Some of them are tragic, did you know? Definitely not Disney rated.” She answers him naturally, not realizing that he had gone to sit next to her until the cushions dipped with his weight.  
“I did not know. How are they tragic?” She knows he’s just making conversation with her. She knows because she’s doing the same thing, she is saying anything with the hopes of hearing his voice answering hers.  
“Well, apparently in Rapunzel, when the prince climbs the tower and doesn’t find Rapunzel but the sorceress that had her trapped in the tower, in his grief he throws himself off the tower and thorns poke his eyes out, making him blind.”  
“What happens next?” he asks her through the laughs that emerged due to her extreme disdain for the story.   
“He wanders the forest blind, eating nuts and berries, until he finds Rapunzel and the set of twins that she had given birth to, then she cries into his eyes and he can see again.”  
“A set of twins?” He looks at her incredulously.   
“Yeah, apparently he was weaving more than silk when he came to visit the tower every night.” Emma scoffs, making Killian laugh again.  
“And they read this to kids?”  
“Well this one is tabbed in red so I think that’s not the ones I’m allowed to read to him. They have the Disney version of it, where the hair is magical and Rapunzel doesn’t birth a set of twins by herself in the forest.” Emma finishes with a laugh.  
“Clearly the better alternative.” Killian says.  
“Clearly.” Emma agrees.   
They stay silent for a while, both of them too scared to say what they want to. Too busy to tell the other how much they miss each other’s company. Emma is still nervous to have him sitting so close to her. It’s hard to believe that they had ever been intimate with each other, had ever been in love with each other. Right now, not even a semblance of that relationship seems to be alive between them. What’s left is a dense air, sexual tension that can be cut through with a knife, and a general sense of unease between the two of them.   
“Emma, I..” Killian starts quietly next to her. She meets his gaze, terrified of what he’s going to say.  
“Killian don’t say something we’ll both regret.” She whispers.  
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” He tells her, a small smile on his lips. He inches closer to her, she can feel his breath hot on her cheek but the second his arm drapes across her shoulders she feels as though she’s been scalded.   
He used you. Her inner voice tells her. He used your body to make himself feel better about the shitty situation you’re both in. He’s just doing it again.  
Emma stands up quickly, mumbling something about how she has to leave and that she’ll see him tomorrow. He calls after her, but she just speeds out of the room and out to the street, repeating that she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, like a prayer on her lips.  
***

There’s a knock on her door an hour later. Emma opens the door to find August on the other side. His grin makes her melt almost instantly, not because it was so attractive that she couldn’t bear it, but because his company was exactly what she needed right now. She needed real, she needed tangible.  
“Hey, sorry I took so long.” He tells her with a kiss on the cheek, “But I had to track down the right food truck and get the right sandwich you were craving.”  
“It’s okay. Where was it? Did you have to go too far?” Emma asks, letting him in and resting her elbows on her kitchen counter.  
“Bronx. Are you okay? You sounded off on the phone.” He looks at her and asks her sincerely, pausing before taking the sandwiches out of the bag.  
“I’m fine, I just missed you.” She mumbles, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She smiles despite herself when she feels his lips on the top of her head.   
August is real. August is tangible.  
“I missed you too, Em.” He says, his voice muffled due to his lips still against the top of her head.  
“So, which one is mine?” she asks, instantly grabbing the sub that he points to and sitting back down in order to devour it. “So you know my friend, Mary Margaret, right?” Emma asks August with her mouth half full. The sandwich and August’s company are both doing wonders for her mood.   
“You’ve mentioned her, yes.” August answers her through laughs, wiping residue mayonnaise from the corner of Emma’s mouth.   
“Well it’s her husband’s birthday next week.” She continues.  
“Your other friend, David.” August states as he looks for a beer in Emma’s fridge, and tries to put names with descriptions.  
“Yes. Well I was thinking you could come with me.” Emma tells him.  
“Yeah, I’d like that.” August answers with a smile, sitting next to Emma and   
“Yeah?” She asks him coyly, the smile she gives him reaching her eyes.  
“Absolutely.” He responds, returning the smile.  
Emma devours what’s left of her sandwich in no time at all. She stands up and throws away her wrapper, and walks to her living room. A few minutes later August joins her on the couch, lifting her legs and sitting on the couch and lowering her legs on top of his lap. They watch TV in silence, August drawing lazy circles on her bare legs with his fingers.   
“You really like me, don’t you?” Emma asks him, a small smile tugging at her lips. She doesn’t know why she asks such an obvious question. She knows how much August likes her.  
“I really do.” He replies, locking his pale blue eyes with her green ones and returning her smile.   
“Why? I mean, all my life I’ve thought I’m so messed up and not good enough for anyone. Most of the people I’ve been with have hurt me, tried to fix me, just being myself has not been good enough. So, why do you like me? Please don’t say because you like how broken I am.” She’s rambling, Emma knows. Part of her can’t believe how brazen she’s being with someone who’s not even her boyfriend. Not her anything, just a glorified fuck buddy, really.  
“I don’t think that at all, Em. I like you for you, the way you think, your humor, your drive. I think you’re incredible.”  
“Incredible?” She asks coyly, dropping her legs from his lap and scooting up closer to him.  
“Incredible.” He nods.  
“What’s so incredible?” she asks him quietly, sultrily, her lips close to his jaw.  
“I think the way you kiss is pretty incredible.” He whispers, eyelids fluttering closed as Emma’s lips brush against his own. She kisses him softly and makes to pull back, but when she does his hand closes his grip on the back of her neck and he brings her back to kiss him again. She comes up for breath after a few seconds, her lips barely leaving any space between his.  
“What else do I do that’s so incredible?” she asks him breathlessly. He groans, clearly over the inquisition game, forcefully kisses her again and when he breaks says, “Why don’t I just show you?”  
And did he ever, over and over again.   
***  
Emma envies how quickly August was able to fall soundly asleep. Ever the over-thinker, her mind was racing a mile a minute, unable to get the thought of Killian out of her mind.   
Today was so strange. Killian was nice and genuine, not at all like the angered guy who walked into her office two months ago, incredibly disturbed by her presence in the company again. And definitely not at all like the mute, hateful man who fucked her in a linen closet last July and then told her he wanted nothing to do with her.   
No, today was different. He was soft, sweet, and agreeable. Hell, up to the part when she freaked out and exited the Charmings’ house as if it were on fire, the whole exchange had been incredibly enjoyable. But Killian said so himself, they were over. So, what did it all mean?  
She stands from her bed, pulling on her ratty cleaning day shorts and throwing on an oversized t-shirt with August’s alma mater emblazoned on it, and heads to the kitchen. All the way there her mind is clouded with thoughts of Killian, the events of this afternoon, and the events of the past two years. A small part of her feels guilty about thinking of Killian when she has a perfectly incredible guy asleep on her bed. August treats her just like she wants to be treated, like she deserves to be treated, but could it ever be enough?  
True, August was real and he was tangible. He was caring, devoted, thoughtful, and not too bad on the eyes. But Emma didn’t know if what she felt was him was real enough, tangible enough, to matter. As she pours herself a glass of water, Emma thinks she hears a light tapping on the door. Being that it was a little after midnight she brushes it off as her tired mind playing tricks on her, but five seconds later she hears it again. She gasps as she sees Killian through the peephole.   
What on earth is he doing here at this time?  
She steadies her breath before she opens the door and he greets her with a small smile that falters quickly when he notices the clothes she’s wearing. Emma closes the door behind her and subconsciously crosses her arms against her chest, still completely taken aback by the surprise visit.   
They stand in the hallway, enveloped in a completely dense and awkward silence.  
“Killian, hi.” She says finally, mentally cursing her voice for sounding so flustered. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”  
“I’m fine, Swan. I was just hoping we could talk for a moment.” Killian answers, his voice dripping with nerves and his hand anxiously scratching the back of his neck.  
“Okay, shoot.” She tells him, hoping that her encouraging smile did not come off as a grimace.   
“I was rather hoping we could talk more in private, love.” He tells her cautiously, gesturing towards her apartment.  
“Oh, um…look Killian, right now isn’t a good time.” She mumbles finally, unable to meet his eyes for more than a split second.  
“Oh, alright then. I take it you’re busy, then.” He says quietly, dejectedly.   
“I am.” Emma answers, unable to bring herself to say anything further. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. She wants to reach out to him and pull him close to her, she wants to kiss him, to nurture him, and to take the sadness away from his life. But she can’t.   
She won’t. Not while August is in the other room, peacefully sleeping, with no troubles in his mind.   
A year ago she would’ve jumped at the opportunity to use another person to fill her void, to use affection to make herself feel worthy and complete.   
But that’s not who Emma is anymore.   
“Is it serious?” He asks. Emma sighs, knowing that he’s referring to the relationship she’s forming with August.   
Of course Killian would ask her the question she’s been having such a hard time answering for herself. Of course.  
“I’m not sure yet. It can be.” She tells him truthfully, smiling sadly at him.  
“And are you happy?” he asks, looking into her eyes for the first time since she opened the door.   
“Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” She nods. It was the truth, in the past year Emma has taken her life by the reins, loving herself first, unlearning what she has been taught since infancy. Unlearning the acceptance that she wasn’t wanted by her parents, unlearning way Neal tried to fix her and just left her broken into pieces, unlearning that it was okay to have a husband that manipulated her and bribed her into making choices that she didn’t want to make because it would benefit him, and therefore both of them. Finally, she was unlearning the habit of filling the loneliness in her heart by falling headfirst into the arms of another.  
Killian steps forward and kisses her cheek. “Then that’s all that matters. I’ll see you tomorrow, Swan.”  
With one last look and a rueful smile directed at her, Killian walks away leaving Emma dumbstruck touching the scorched spot on her cheek that he had kissed.

***  
“Whoa.” August whistles as he steps into the threshold of Mary Margaret and David’s townhouse, a week later. “This is swanky.”  
“Yeah,” Emma replies. “They’re kind of loaded.”  
“Trust fund babies?” He asks matter-of-factly, taking a champagne flute from a nearby tray.  
“Something like that.” Emma laughs, taking a champagne flute for herself.  
“Must be nice.” August tells her wistfully.   
“I don’t know. I like that I’ve been roughing it these past months.” Emma teases.  
“Emma, you live in Lower Manhattan. I would hardly call that roughing it.” August replies seriously, shaking his head.  
“Hey! It was quite the downgrade from basically having a whole floor to myself in the Upper West Side.” She snaps at him with an accompanying eye roll.  
“Emma! You made it!” Mary Margaret cries from the other side of the hall. She’s ridiculous, Emma thinks. One minute Emma sees her a good twenty feet away from her, and the next she sees her squeezing between two random guests and throwing her arms around her. “You must be August!”   
“I am, you must be Mary Margaret.” He answers him with a grin.  
“Ooh, Emma you were right he is handsome.” How much has this woman had to drink? At the mention of the comment, August raises his eyebrows at Emma to which she shakes her head at. Though in all honesty, August did clean up very nicely. He was wearing a tailored solid gray suit with a white shirt and a skinny steel gray tie.   
“Glad you approve, Mags. How much champagne have you had?” Emma changes the subject quickly and Mary Margaret catches on just as fast, narrowing her eyes at Emma.  
“A lot. Did you know David’s dad is here? Isn’t life grand?” Oh, Emma thought, that explains it. Mary Margaret and her father-in-law did not get along well ever since he found out that she was the main reason that David and Kathryn didn’t work out. You see, David’s father and Kathryn’s father were partners at a law firm up in Boston, and Emma guesses that their hope was to join their stupidly wealthy families together by means of having David and Kathryn ending up together. However, cue Mary Margaret being perfect for David and them spending a year abroad in Ireland and the marital merger was a thing of the past. To be fair, it has gotten better over the years, especially now that Baby Neal is the center of attention, but David’s father really is insufferable.   
“Oh, it’s fine. Come on, I’ll take you to see David so you can wish him a happy birthday.” Mary Margaret huffs and leads the way through the dense throng of people. David, it turns out, was in the lounge, playing billiards with his friends from work, and (oh, kill her now) Killian.   
“Guess who finally made it to the party, hon.” Mary Margaret says. David breaks away from the group, hugs Emma, and thanks her for the present. He is open and welcoming towards August, whom he instantly takes a liking to, and invites him to play the next round of pool.   
“You okay with that, Em?” August asks.  
“Go for it.” She tells him simply. To be honest, she was much more preoccupied with the way Killian looked at her, at August, and then back at her. He gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but he introduces himself to August and is perfectly cordial towards him as well.   
“You okay?” Mary Margaret asks her.  
“Perfect.” Emma responds.   
But she wasn’t perfect. In fact, Emma has been so confused over the past week, ever since Killian came to see her, that the mere sight of him is almost too much to handle. She was having a hard time believing that they were truly over.  
You idiot, she thinks, if you want to be with him that bad just break it off with August.  
But the thing is, she likes August too. She loves spending time with him and till now, he hasn’t given her a single reason to not want to be with him.  
Yes, but you love Killian.  
Yes, but he let her go. He’s happy if she’s happy, and she is.  
Debatable.

In the two hours that she’s been there she has seen August only twice. He must have hit it off with the guys even better than she thought he would. She’s happy for him, that he found a way to have fun in a place where he knows no one. However, part of her half hoped that he’d whisk her mid-party to the backyard and make out with her a little. Because, no offense, Emma loves Mary Margaret’s mother, but there’s only so much she can take to listening on how to make the perfect strawberry rhubarb pie.  
Emma excuses herself from the group and while grabbing yet another champagne flute makes her way to the backyard. It’s funny to think, that a little over a year ago she had been sitting on the cobble-stoned floor, mid-anxiety attack, Walsh inside of the house and Killian kneeling in front of her asking her to leave her husband. It feels like that happened a lifetime ago or like it happened to someone else and she was just hearing the story second hand.   
“Fancy meeting you here, Swan.” Killian’s lilting accent travels into the backyard softly. Emma can see the shadow his body is casting over the cobble-stoned floor.   
“I don’t see how it’s surprising. This tends to be my spot during these parties.” She turns back and smiles at him.   
“It’s a good spot.” He concedes.   
“Yeah, it is.” She agrees quietly. “How come you aren’t playing pool anymore?” she asks. Emma watches as Killian thinks over his words and sighs with his hands in his pockets.  
“Your boyfriend is a tad insufferable, love.” He says finally, with such dissatisfaction that it almost makes Emma giggle.  
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re jealous, Killian.” She teases. Apparently it was the wrong thing to say because Killian just looks at her with incredulous eyes.  
“Of course I’m bloody jealous! Why are you with him?” he cries exasperatedly.  
“I don’t know, maybe because he’s good to me.” Emma answers defensively. What is his problem? Last weekend he seemed to be perfectly okay with her being happy.  
“Was I not good to you?” he says, his voice palpably irritated, his blazing eyes looking deep into hers.   
“That’s not what I meant.” Emma sighs.   
“What did you mean, then?” Killian counters, stepping closer to her and reaching for her arm.  
“Killian, I don’t have to explain myself to you anymore! We’re over, remember? You said it.” Emma tells him exasperatedly, yanking her arm out of his grip and wanting desperately to get out of this situation. She wants to go home, pop open chardonnay and forget that this encounter ever happened.  
“Well maybe I don’t want us to be over anymore.” Killian says ardently, pulling her towards him by her arm. Before Emma has a chance to realize what has happened, Killian places his lips roughly against hers and kisses her deeply. To say that Emma had the wind knocked out of her was an understatement. It feels so unbelievably incredible to be kissing him again. Killian moans against her lips, probably thinking along the same lines as Emma. She’s about to let him deepen the kiss, push her against a darkened corner, and have his way with her when her mind starts to realize what she’s doing and suddenly it’s like a bucket full of ice was dumped on top of her. Emma breaks the kiss and forcefully pushes Killian away from her.   
“No! Not like this.” She pants, the kiss having left her breathless.  
“Why not, love? Don’t deny us this, Swan.” Killian asks while making his way towards her, desperate it seems, for another kiss. But Emma can’t fall into this again, not this time.   
“Killian, I said ‘no’. All right? I’m not doing this again.” She tells him quietly.  
“Emma, please.” Killian pleads, his face burrowing in the crook of Emma’s neck. She sighs and prays for strength. She’s not falling down the rabbit hole again, she can’t.  
“No! Okay? You hurt me. You used me and I am not this person anymore.” Emma starts, putting her hands on Killian’s chest and pushing his weight off of her. She takes a few steps back; she needs distance and clarity because right now she’s angrier than she’s ever been. “What makes you think you have the right to talk to me the way you’re talking to me? To come up to me and kiss me after all that has happened? Did you think I’d wait for you, is that it? Did you think I’d fall into your arms after what you did?” She’s panting, her chest heaving up and down but it feels lighter than it has in months. Ever since he left her in the hallway, tears blurring her vision and feeling used and discarded she has wanted to say something to him.   
“You hurt me too, Swan! Or did you forget about that in your process to make yourself a bloody martyr?” Killian fires back, livid. At least, he’s as angry as she is. He turns his back to her and steps away from her.   
A martyr? He thinks she’s making herself a martyr?  
“Hey, I apologized for that! I know that it would never be enough and I am so incredibly sorry for what I did but you have to believe that I made my choice to save you. And when I apologized, you threw that apology to the trash alongside any hope that we could have to fix what happened to us.” Tears are prickling her eyes now. For once, for once, she’d like to finish an argument without feeling like she is about to cry. Killian must have heard her voice break (dammit, she really thought he hadn’t), because his gaze softens and he takes a few steps closer to him.  
“Swan, I--” he starts but Emma cuts him off, nowhere near finished with what she had to say.   
“No! Let me finish! That insufferable guy in there? He treats me like I deserve to be treated. He treats me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and you know what? After all the shit relationships I’ve been in, I think it’s high time I deserved that kind of treatment.” Emma is so forceful in her speech that the thin strap of her loose black dress slips off her shoulder, and before she’s able to notice it, Killian has already fixed it.   
“You’re right.” He tells her quietly, his eyes looking at her with muted acceptance.   
“And another thing—wait, what?” she stops before going off on another tangent. Did she hear correctly? Did Killian say that she was right?  
“Swan, you are right. You deserve all the things you’ve mentioned. And I want to give you that, I can give you that, love. I just want you to give us another shot.” Killian’s voice is sincere, his hand outstretched towards hers, grabbing her fingers lightly. Emma is so confused, here she is at a crossroads in her path. One road, leads to the man whom she thought was her soulmate, the man whom she thought was her happy ending but with whom she shares too much negative history to possibly overlook. The other road, leads to August, the prospect of a future in which she chooses to live life the way she has the last few months, full of happiness and self-love. Right now, she doesn’t know if the path that leads to Killian could guarantee the level of happiness that she has experienced in the past year. Additionally, it feels like taking a huge leap backwards to fall back into Killian’s arms.   
No, she made her choice when she decided to unlearn all the pain she had experienced in her past. She won’t be unfaithful again, she won’t jump to fill another void in her chest. If she ends up with Killian again, it will be because she feels confident in her choice that he is who she wants, who she needs, because they both treat each other with the same amount of respect, support, and love that they each deserve. She won’t be with him expecting to leave things to fate, to chance, to ignore the past and just give in to desire.  
“Killian, I’m with August now.”  
“Yes, but it’s not serious, love.”  
“No, but it can be and I need you to respect my choice. This is all I can handle right now, no more and no less.” Killian nods, finally internalizing her words. Emma walks up to him, places a kiss on his cheek, and starts to walk away.   
“Swan, can I just ask one question?” he says quietly. Emma turns towards him and nods.  
“Is there hope, you know, for us?” he looks at her expectantly, his blue eyes wide and focused on her green ones.   
Is there? She asks herself. She smiles to herself, knowing that there’s really only one answer to this.   
Of course there’s hope for them. Yes.  
“Absolutely.”


	14. Chapter 13

The few nights ever since David’s birthday that Emma has gotten the chance to fall asleep have been minimal and even then she cannot fully say that she has gotten a good night’s sleep. All night she tosses and turns, dreaming the same dream, except it isn’t a dream it’s a memory.   
It always starts out the same way. She lies on a bed in a dark room, quietly monitoring her breathing so it matches his. She can see the line of the horizon lighting up with the first glimpse of the morning sun from her window, and she feels him stir underneath the covers, his arm draping itself across her bare stomach subconsciously pulling her closer to him. He tucks his chin on her shoulder, burying his face in the crook of her neck when hot, thick tears start flowing freely down her cheeks, she doesn’t want to cry but she can’t help it. She never wanted this day to come.   
She turns her face towards his and kisses his cheek, making him stir and groggily open his eyes, smile sweetly at her, and be unaware that she feels as if her world is crumbling all around her. He notices though, when he goes to kiss her cheek and he feels the wet tear stains on them. His eyes focus then and he holds her close.  
“What’s wrong, love?” he asks, his voice dry and sleepy.  
“Nothing, I’m just being stupid.” She responds, bringing the covers up to her eyes.  
“Swan, you’re crying. Tell me.” He prods, pulling the cover down to focus his blue eyes on her green ones.  
“I just…I just don’t want to leave.” Her voice sounds so small, so vulnerable. She hates it.  
“It will all be alright, love. We’ll see each other again, sooner than you think.”  
“But when?”  
“I don’t know. Soon.” She rolls her eyes and makes to look away, but his hand gently tugs at her chin and turns her face towards his. He looks at her with determined eyes, determined to be strong for her, for both of them.   
“Hey, I love you. We will make this work.” He says before capturing her lips in a kiss, a kiss that deepens quickly and ends with him moving inside of her. Killian towers over her, his hands pinning hers down to the mattress on either side of her head. His lips trail kisses down her neck, biting her lightly on her collarbone. The early morning light shines dimly on his face, making his eyes look like such a pale shade of blue that they’re almost transparent. Emma’s breaths are short, and her skin shines with a thin layer of sweat. She can feel the heat of her orgasm coil low in her belly; Killian nods encouragingly desperate for her to have her release. Her walls tighten around him, bringing him along with her. They come together for the first time that morning, her name a whisper on his lips. Killian stills inside of her as she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck wanting to keep the moment intact, wanting to keep him in her arms forever, wanting this morning to never end. 

And that’s how the dream ends, with Emma reliving the last moments she shared with Killian back in Ireland before she left back for America. She stares up at her ceiling every night afterwards, remembering how fast their relationship faded away after that. At first they kept up communication as well as they could have with the distance, time difference. They’d send each other emails and call each other every weekend, but as fast as they had gotten together, that’s as fast as they lost contact. Killian lost his brother Liam to a drunk driving accident that summer, and after that the emails were less frequent, the calls even more so until one day Emma called him and said that maybe trying to keep their relationship alive was just not worth it anymore. He needed to grieve, Emma couldn’t fathom clinging onto hope any longer, and they both needed to move on with their individual lives even if it was apart from each other.   
Emma knows the real reason why she can’t sleep, why she’s so restless, and so anxious: she needs to end whatever she has with August. The night of the party August had walked her home, held her hand on the way back to her apartment, and kissed her outside of her door. She was sure that he was going to spend the night, like he has countless times before, instead he stayed outside her threshold, his hand outstretched towards hers, his fingers laced with her own.  
“Swan, wait.” He had said.   
“What is it? Aren’t you coming in? I wore my sexy new underwear.” She prodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. After her encounter with Killian, and the amount of drinks she had consumed, she wouldn’t have minded some well-deserved sex. August smiled at her, brushing her hair off of her face, giving her a look that Emma could easily pinpoint as that of a person who’s falling for the person in front of them.   
“Swan, I don’t know how I can say this, so I’m just going to say it.” August started, clearly nervous.  
“What are you talking about?” Emma was nervous too, not liking the direction this was heading in.  
“I want more with you. Tonight…tonight showed me that I want to be with you as more than friends, as more than fuck buddies, as more than whatever it is we’re doing.” He had said quickly, almost a mumble, all in one breath.   
“Oh, August…I don’t know---” She started but August cut her off promptly.  
“No, don’t say anything. Think about it, take the weekend and think about it. I know we said that this wasn’t serious, that it was just casual and I’ll understand if you do not feel the same way. I just want to spend more time with you, Swan. That’s all.” And with that he kissed her on the cheek and left her standing in her apartment’s threshold, wondering what about the whole exchange didn’t feel right.  
That was the first night Emma spent tossing and turning, trying to sleep but all her mind pictured was August and Killian. She tried counting sheep but it didn’t work, her mind was reeling trying avidly to figure out what just didn’t click with the whole exchange. She didn’t understand, she liked August so why did this feel so wrong? She really, really liked him. He calls when he says he’s going to call, he’s cordial, and he’s funny, he treats her the way she’s always wanted to be treated. Then what was the problem? Why wasn’t every single cell inside her body screaming their acceptance to August’s question? Why did she feel like something was so undoubtedly wrong that there was simply no use with her forcing herself to want to be with him as more than what they already are?  
Realization did not hit until the sun started streaming in through the window marking the dawn of a new day. Emma knew why everything felt so wrong; it was because August had called her “Swan” for the first time ever. Her own name felt so strange coming out of his lips, not because it was unwelcome but because Killian was the only one who ever calls her that and on his voice her name was welcome, her name was home.   
Yes, August was real and he was tangible, but as much as she could try to deny it, Killian Jones had stolen her heart long before August ever showed up in her life. Killian is whom she wants, Killian is whom she needs, and Killian is whom she loves.  
-/-  
Emma is freaking out, not about her decision (which of the limited things she is confident about in her life, the decision to end things with August is the one of those she is sure of) but about how long it’s taking August to get to her apartment. She wants to get this over with, rip the relationship off like a Band-Aid, so quick that it will hopefully leave their friendship intact. However, that feat is proving highly difficult since he’s decided to take the longest time to arrive at her apartment.   
She’s never done this.   
Yes, she runs. Yes, all of her relationships have failed.  
But she’s never really dumped anyone. Most of the times she just wasn’t good enough for the guys she was with and whenever she felt like the relationship was heading somewhere entirely too serious she simply ran, no questions asked.   
And let’s not talk about her failed marriage, there’s really no need to go there. She feels the ghost of her wedding rings on her finger, the familiar feel of anxiety seeping in through every pore, and her thumb instinctively goes to twirl her rings frantically only to remember half a second later that they’re not there anymore. She has half a mind to go to the kitchen and open up that new bottle of Riesling she’s been dying to try, just to give herself some liquid courage, but the moment she decides to go pop it open, she hears August knock on the door.  
Here it is, now or never.  
Emma opens the door and it almost breaks her how he looks so incredibly happy to see her. His face looks open and expectant, his lips going towards her cheek as she lets him inside of her apartment. Emma walks behind him into her living room, where she sits next to him on the couch.   
“Missed you,” August says simply. God, this is going to suck.  
“I missed you too.” She says. She’s not lying, she really did miss him. August was fun to be around, and that’s the honest truth.  
“So, what did you decide?” Crap, Emma thinks, I guess he wants to jump right into it.   
“Straight to the point, I see.” She starts, taking a second to compose herself. “August…I really, don’t think I’m ready to get into anything serious right now.” She blurts out.  
Technically, this could be construed as a half-lie. In actuality, she’s serious about trying to fix things with Killian and get back together with him as soon as that is able to happen. Truthfully, however, she doesn’t know how soon that is going to be. Accordingly, “right now” is an illusory concept of time in which she has no immediate future prospects, so in that Emma is telling the truth. Or maybe she’s just full of shit and just wants to let August down easily.  
She’s total crap at this. This is why she runs.  
No, this is why old Emma ran. New Emma doesn’t run, she faces her problems head on.  
“Okay…so do you need more time? I’d be willing to wait.” Shit, she forgot August is extra understanding and considerate.   
“August…look, you are incredible. You are, you’re just what I needed these last few months. You’ve helped me so much and I’ll always be thankful for you…”Emma starts truthfully.  
“But?” August offers, a small rueful smile spreading across his lips.   
“I just want to be friends.” She lets out flatly, honestly. August sighs and nods his head, seeming to understand.  
“You still love him, don’t you?” He offers after a while. She could lie, she could evade, and she could completely disregard the question. She debates whether to play dumb or answer him truthfully.   
“I do.” She said.   
“Then, I won’t get in the way.” He says with finality. He pats his thighs with both of his hands and stands up. Emma looks at him worriedly. Is that it? Was it really going to be that easy?  
“Come here, Em.” He offers, holding his arms wide open. Emma lets herself be hugged by him, completely befuddled by the whole exchange. He really was too nice for his own good, but that’s exactly what she had needed after the long array of disastrous relationships, someone nice and genuinely good for her.   
He left after that. August walked right out of Emma’s life but for once she didn’t feel like their relationship was one that had failed. Yes, it had ended but not because either of them completely messed it up for the other, it had simply run its due course.   
Emma sighs contentedly against the kitchen counter. She wasn’t terribly relieved that she had ended things with August, but she did feel as if she had done the right thing. Now, he can go ahead and find someone who will truly appreciate what he brings to the table and she can go on living her life focusing on what makes her happy. She takes the Riesling bottle from the counter and deciding to put away the need to drink whenever she felt anxious along with the act of putting the bottle back into the cabinet. 

-/-

It’s been almost two weeks since Emma broke things up with August and she still hasn’t worked up the nerve to walk up to Killian and own up to how she feels about him. Having lunch with Mary Margaret on a Friday she figures out that she needs to get it over with.  
But she has to admit that she’s terrified to tell him how she feels.  
Truthfully, she could have taken the way things ended with August as a progressive fact that she was able to start and end a relationship on a positive note. That she wasn’t broken, that in the end she could be brave and smart enough to choose what was right for her. But can she simply let go? It’s not like she can control how she feels about Killian. She has to tell him, simply just has to do it...count to three and tell him that she loves him.   
Easy.   
Her mind is a wreck and she hasn’t been able to eat in days, her nerves wrecking her appetite. Mary Margaret scowls at her as Emma pushes around the couscous around her salad plate. Emma has been silent for most of the lunch break, mulling around what she’s planning on telling Killian...if she’s even brave enough to do anything about it.   
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mary Margaret asks from across the table.  
“Nothing.” Emma answers.   
“I’ve known you since you were eighteen, I know when something’s up.” The brunette snaps haughtily. “Fess up.”  
“I’m just thinking.”  
“I’m going to need you to talk to me, Emma. I could’ve just brought a LeanCuisine to the office and be miserable if I would’ve known how this lunch date was going to go down.” Mary Margaret huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leaning back on her chair.  
“Sorry.” Emma mumbles, completely enthralled by pushing the mountain of couscous around her plate.  
“Talk to me.” Mary Margaret whines, snapping her fingers close to Emma’s face to get her attention. The woman was insufferable.   
“I broke things off with August.” Emma tells her finally, earning an eye-roll from Mary Margaret.  
“Emma! Why do you always do this? He was so incredible!” She huffs, clearly annoyed.   
“Mags, I know…I just didn’t love him.” Emma responds calmly, this time earning her a tsk from Mary Margaret.   
“Emma, you had been dating the guy for like two months I’d be weary if you were in love with him.” Mary Margaret tells her plainly, shaking her head.   
“No, I mean. He wanted more and I just couldn’t give it to him.” At this, Mary Margaret becomes even more annoyed, rolling her eyes like she had a decade ago at the Halloween party where Emma had met Killian for the first time.  
“Why can’t you ever just try?” Mary Margaret huffs again, actually ticking Emma off.   
“That’s uncalled for. I do try.” Emma answers her defensively.   
“You do not. You run.” Mary Margaret counters.   
“Funnily enough, breaking it off with him wasn’t me running from commitment.” Emma says quietly, pausing for effect.   
“What do you mean?”  
“Mags, I broke it off with him because I’m still in love with Killian.” She answers, looking plainly into Mary Margaret’s eyes so she could see that she was serious about it. Mary Margaret looks at her sympathetically and bites her lip.  
“I thought you gave up on that.” She tells Emma quietly.   
“No, I think I’m going to go for it.” Emma says quickly shaking her head, attempting to shove the some chicken and couscous into her mouth, failing miserably when she was met with the happy squeal that came from Mary Margaret’s direction.   
“Oh, my God. Are you serious?” she asks excitedly.   
“Does that surprise you?” Emma asks her, mildly humored at her friend’s excitement.   
“No! I’m just…oh, my god! When are you going to do it? Wait, when did you break up with August? Why are you taking so long to tell Killian? How are you going to do it? You should, like, kiss him at a meeting or in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge like all those early 2000s romantic comedies starring Kate Hudson.” In true Mary Margaret fashion, the hopeful brunette had gone off on a tangent completely enthralled by the prospect of Emma and Killian getting back together.   
“Mags! Breathe! I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, I’m kind of freaking out.” Emma says frantically, grabbing Mary Margaret’s flailing hands and pulling them back down onto the table before Granny made them exit the restaurant for making too much noise.  
“No! Don’t freak out! He likes you too! All he does is ask about you and when you were in D.C. Emma, he was miserable, you can’t freak out about this.”  
“I will. I just want to do this right. I don’t want to rush into things, I want to think this through.” Emma answers her friend, who looks as if she’s about to have an aneurysm.  
“No! Don’t over think! Do it!” Mary Margaret says loudly, earning both of them a disapproving glare from the patrons sitting next to them.   
“Okay! Okay! Christ, Mags. How does David stand you?” Emma concedes, placing a twenty-dollar bill on the table to pay for their lunch and standing up.  
“He thinks it’s cute that I’m feisty.” Mary Margaret shrugs.   
“He’s deluded, you’re the devil incarnate.” Emma mumbles, shaking her head.   
“Same thing.”

-/-  
Another week had passed and Emma still hasn’t mustered up the courage to tell Killian how she feel and it isn’t for lack of opportunity to do so. She sees him every day, more than once. It has been a busy couple of weeks at RCM, the marketing and advertising departments were getting everything ready and working together tirelessly to launch new campaigns for three different movies. Emma also can’t use the excuse that she hasn’t been able to tell Killian because they’re not on speaking terms because that’s not the case at all. They have been in speaking terms for longer than a month now and they show up to each other’s meetings without the need to send their assistants in their steads.   
It’s driving Emma crazy that she hasn’t been able to just do it. That she’s so absolutely terrified of what may happen if she does decide to take the plunge. She is with him every day, almost all day long, even into the long hours of the night trying to put the final touches on the different campaigns. They sit across from each other, Chinese takeout in hand, deliberating the final plans and running them by each other to see if anything needed to be tweaked before running them by Regina and ultimately the general public. For the past few weeks, he has taken her ideas and has made them come to life right in front of her. He and his team have executed all of the plans that she has drafted up almost to perfection and yet she still can’t muster the courage to pull him by his suit lapel and kiss him fiercely.   
She has to do it.   
The very next time she sees him she’s going to take the plunge. Emma Swan will not run away, Emma Swan will fall and hope that he’ll catch her.   
And if he doesn’t then she’ll just have to stand up and brush herself off and keep walking. Except she doesn’t want to think about the possibility of him not catching her.   
So let’s stop thinking about it, she thinks as she stands up and starts pacing around her office. She sets her sights on the view of Manhattan outside of her window. She realizes that she’s probably one of the last people in the whole building. Hell, she had even told Ruby to go home what felt like two hours ago, so who knows how late it actually is.  
“I just don’t see what’s so hard about telling him.” She starts, mumbling to herself, her last marketing plan left forgotten on top of her desk. “You just have to say, ‘Killian, I love you’ and you kiss him. Well, maybe not like that. ‘I love you, Killian.’ That doesn’t sound any better. Ugh, this is so stupid. Why can’t I just tell him? ‘Killian--’”  
“You love me.” She freezes as she hears his voice cut hers off. This cannot be happening. This isn’t what she had planned.  
“Killian.” She breathes, as she turns around stunned and embarrassed. “W-What are you doing here?” Really, the guy just walks in on her rehearsing to confess her love to him, and she asks him what he is doing in her office?  
“I came to see if you wanted to share a ride home.” He offers with a knowing smile, his eyebrow arched impossibly high on his forehead.   
She’s dead. Emma Swan is no more, due to massive embarrassment the ground has decided to swallow her up whole. He walks up to her, his tongue subconsciously licking his lower lip. He gives her an infuriatingly cocky grin as he walks around her desk and gets closer to her. She wants to kiss the stupid grin off his face.   
She hates him, he’s insufferable.  
“I also wanted to see how you were.” He adds, running his thumb across his lower lip. The act is so simple, but it still makes heat radiate from Emma’s stomach. She’s missed the effect he has on her, the way the simplest gesture can make her heart swell inside her chest.  
“Why?” Emma shifts nervously.  
“Because I know you’re not with September anymore.” He says nonchalantly, his blue eyes meeting her green ones candidly.   
“August.” Emma corrects him, shaking her head and failing at masking the smile that was forming on her lips.  
“I don’t care.” He tells her simply, his smile matching hers.   
“Wait, how did you know I broke up with him?” She asks, but Killian just gives her a knowing look and realization dawns on her. “I’m going to kill Mags.” Emma sighs. The woman can’t keep a secret to save her life.  
“How much did you hear?” she asks unable to contain herself. He’s now standing so close to her and the backs of her knees are touching the edge of her desk after being coaxed against it.   
“All of it.” He answers, his hand outstretched towards her, his fingers lacing themselves around strands of blonde hair. Emma’s eyes flutter shut at the familiar sensation, it’s so welcome.   
“And?” she breathes.   
The only answer she receives is that of Killian’s lips being pressed up against hers a millisecond later. It was euphoric to feel his soft lips against hers again, to feel his hands buried inside of her hair until one cradled her neck and the other cupped her cheek. She can’t resist moaning into the kiss and she’s having a hard time believing that it’s actually happening. Killian’s mouth leaves hers and starts trailing kisses along her jaw, both of his hands dipping to her lower back and pulling her towards him. He kisses her again, this time gently tugging her bottom lip between his teeth, making her whimper.   
“Wait, wait.” Emma breathes pulling back slightly. Killian drops his head unto her shoulder with an exasperated sigh. She knows he wants to continue kissing her but she has to get this off her chest first. “I want to know I’m doing the right thing here.” She says, still trying to compose herself.  
“Don’t be daft, love. Of course you are.” He says with a smile, locking his eyes with hers. “I love you too, Swan.” Emma’s unruly stomach does a flip, the butterflies swirling around it frantically. It’s happening, this is really happening.  
“I know, but I want to be sure. I don’t want to rush into anything and I don’t want to just jump into what we had last time. I want to do this right, I want to--”  
“You want to be properly courted.” Killian finishes for her. His mouth breaks into a full-on grin as he alludes to what he had told her the night that they had decided to start the affair. Except now she was free, she was happy, and jumping into something with him wasn’t a choice made out of loneliness.  
“Yes.” She answers him quietly, grinning as wide as he is.   
Killian’s hands cup her face, caressing her cheeks. His smile is big and genuine; the light reaches his eyes for the first time in the past months. “Good, now that that’s settled. Where were we?” Emma shakes her head and grabs him by the lapels of his suit, lightly pulling his lips down to hers where she kisses him ardently. His teeth nip a little harder on her bottom lip, pulling it out slightly and making her moan.   
He grins into the kiss and let’s his hands travel further down her back until he cups her bottom and lifts her up onto her desk. Screw going slow, Emma thinks as she lets her hands travel up under his shirt and his tongue seeks entrance into her mouth, this feels wonderful. She wraps her legs around his middle, pulling his noticeably aroused self deeper against her aching core. God, she wants him. She wants him right here on this desk.   
Killian seems to feel her desperation and her wanton disregard for professional etiquette and pulls away from her. He kisses her forehead, his panting breath hot against her skin, and he uncrosses her legs from around his midriff.   
“Coffee, tomorrow?” he breathes, his forehead pressed against hers.  
“Coffee sounds great.” She answers just as breathless, feeling incredibly void as he steps away from her and takes all the warmth that she felt with him.   
“Did you still want to catch that ride home?” He asks her as they walk down the lobby towards the exit, his fingers ghosting around hers. He smiles at her when she laces their fingers together and gives him a reassuring squeeze.  
Finally.  
“With you? Always.”


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

April greets Emma with Killian knocking on her office door at five in the afternoon, two cups of coffee in his hands.   
“Hey, stranger.” She greets, unable to stop the grin that was spreading across her lips.   
She was his, and he was hers and they were together, finally.   
“Hey, I’ve got your coffee, a venti, triple shot, hazelnut mocha as requested.” He says proudly, placing the cup on her desk before kissing her on the cheek.   
“Come here.” She says, raising her hand to his chin and guiding his face back to hers, kissing his lips softly. She wants him. She’s wanted him ever since he kissed her in her office the day before, ever since they shared a cab and his hand absentmindedly started drawing circles on her thigh, ever since he walked her to her apartment door and kissed her goodnight.  
“I believe we have a coffee date, Swan.” He chuckles, breaking away from the kiss as she tries to deepen it. “You ready?” he asks now standing near the door, raising his eyebrows questioningly at her as he takes a sip of his own coffee.  
“Life ruiner.” She mumbles, standing up grabbing her coffee and purse.  
“What was that?” Killian asks her incredibly amused.  
“Nothing.” Emma singsongs.   
“Come on then, you bloody infuriating woman.” He grins, extending his hand towards hers, grabbing it, and walking alongside her down the hall.   
-/-  
“So, now what?” Emma asks expectantly as she sits down next to him on a bench, coffee cups placed idly on the floor. They had walked around Central Park for a good fifteen minutes before finding a spot where a local puppeteer was putting on a show for a bundle of little kids. Killian’s hand was over hers, absentmindedly playing with her fingers, his gaze focused on the developing show in front of them.  
Not answering her question, he turns towards her and fixes a warm gaze on her. She smiles at him, unable to believe that they had gotten to this point. Unable to believe that they were finally together, no obstacles anywhere near their path.  
“Tell me about you.” He says finally, grinning widely at her confused face.   
“Killian, you already know everything there is to know about me.” She answers him, chuckling incredulously.  
“Not true,” he begins. “After that dismal day that you walked out of my life I have no idea what happened to you when you left with Walter until I saw you again in July…” he drifts off hurriedly, probably unsure about how he should approach last July’s linen closet incident. “Sorry, lass. My mouth has run away with me again.” He adds apologetically, scratching the back of his neck nervously.  
“No, it’s okay. You’re right. We need to talk about what happened, we can’t just start on a completely new slate.” She tells him earnestly, a reassuring smile on her face. She didn’t want to relive what happened in D.C., but she had to if she wanted to make her relationship with Killian a trusting, honest, and working one. “My time with Walsh in D.C. was miserable.” Emma starts slowly, squeezing Killian’s hand tightly to reciprocate his own reassuring squeeze. “It really was, I thought of you every single moment. I couldn’t sleep for the first week. I guess I was too shocked how it all had happened so quickly. I was terrified, angry, and just…fucking depressed.”  
“Careful, Swan, think of the children.” Killian warns, pointing at the swarm of kids gathering around the puppeteer.  
“Shut up. It really was absolutely miserable. He just had me trapped, placed on a mantelpiece like a trophy. I was like his own doll, he’d take me out, parade me, putting on this farce of a perfect marriage in front of the public. But it was all a sham, we would come home after campaigning and he’d screw his campaign manager every night in the room next to mine. He was able to keep up his affair with someone he didn’t even love, and I was forced to give up the love of my life to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt you.” She finishes her voice breaking, swallowing the thick lump in her throat so she could breathe easily again. “Sorry.” She says quickly, laughing nervously as she quickly wipes the rebel tears that streamed down her cheek.  
Killian grabs her hand that’s still on her cheek and brings it up to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. “Swan, you don’t ever have to apologize for your choice. You did what you thought was best for both of us, I understand that now.”  
“Okay.” She says softly. She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to not apologizing, when she was with Walsh it seemed like it was all she ever did.  
“What happened next?” He asks, her hand still in his.  
“Well, I decided that I needed to take my life back. I kept up with the torture until I thought of a plan that would make him have no other choice than to grant me a divorce and I went with it.” She answers, a playful smile now gracing her face.   
“What did you do?” He asks, his grin matching hers.   
“I filmed him and his campaign manager having sex one night and waited until he was so deep in the campaign that he couldn’t possibly refuse the divorce.”  
“You bribed him with a sex tape.” He laughs.   
“Killian, the children.” Emma warns him, echoing the tone he used on her earlier making him rolls his eyes at her.  
“I always knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan.” He boasts, raising his arm and wrapping it behind her shoulders making Emma rest her head on his chest.  
“Yeah, well I learned from the best.”  
They stay like that for a while, watching as the puppeteer finishes his show. It was actually rather good and funny, or so Emma gathered during the times that her attention wandered over to his skit. She stands and fishes inside of her wallet for some money and hands it to him. When she comes back Killian is grinning at her, she could really get used to that sight.  
“So, what did you do when we were apart?” She asks him as she sits back down, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them, looking at Killian expectantly.  
“I’m not going to lie to you, Swan. I became rather fond of certain libations, completely obsessed with work. I was just hopelessly wandering around the world, to be honest.” He says finishing with a dry, rueful chuckle.  
She wants to ask him about Brunette Bombshell.  
Maybe she shouldn’t.  
“I saw you with a girl one day.” Well, there it was. He knits his eyebrows at her.  
“When?” He asks.  
“I went for a jog when I came to visit for Neal’s christening. Somehow I ended up in your neck of the woods and I had some coffee at that shop we used to go to, and then I saw you two.” Emma half expects him to deny it, but her expectations die down when she sees realization dawn on his face.   
“Yeah, I might have had a fling with Regina’s assistant for a couple of weeks.” Killian says quickly, his cheeks red.  
“Astrid? You had sex with Astrid?” Emma asks incredulously, mentally beating herself with a stick. Why was she jealous? She had a functioning relationship with August for almost three months.  
“Swan, remember the children.” He warns, laughing at her shaking her head at him. “Hey, you had a thing with September, she didn’t mean anything to me. She was just there at a time when I needed someone, that’s all, love. I promise.”  
“I know.” Emma says quietly, trying to cover up that she was slightly miffed.   
“Emma, if it makes you feel any better it didn’t end even remotely well.” Killian laughs, extending his hand towards her face and trying to stretch a smile from her pout with his thumb.  
“How so?” Emma asks, playfully swatting away his hand from her face, trying to mask her incredibly obvious intrigue while making Killian shoot her a knowing look. He indulges her, nonetheless.   
“Well, I believe she said I had the mental capacity of a thirteen year old and I was emotionally barren.” He answers her question simply, shooting her a dazzling smile afterwards.   
“You’re none of those things.” Emma tells him earnestly, her hand instinctively going to cup his cheek. Killian sighs, absentmindedly nuzzling his face against the palm of her hand.   
“Aye, but I was when I was without you.” He answers her quietly, blue eyes locking intensely with her green ones.   
“How long did it last?” she breathes.  
“I told her I couldn’t see her again the night of the christening. I was a complete mess after that day. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.” He answers her in the same hushed tone she used to pose the question. His eyes were sincere and Emma can see all the hurt that has been living behind them for the past two years in this one moment of candor. She smiles at him candidly, bringing her other hand to his other cheek and pressing a kiss to his lips. He moans, seemingly melting into the kiss, and digs his hands in her hair.   
A chorus of disgust greets their ears and they break away when they notice it’s coming from the throng of children still surrounding them.  
“Bloody, kids.” Killian mumbles against her lips, making her smile.  
“Maybe we should take this somewhere more private.” Emma suggests, raising an eyebrow at him as she pulls away.  
“I’d like that.” He answers, offering her his hand after standing up.   
-/-  
Emma all but attacks him when they get to her apartment later that evening. He grins against her lips when she pushes him against the wall and kisses him zealously, his breath hitching when her hand palms his growing erection. She bites his lip, tugging at it softly before guiding him back into her living room. Killian looks at her dazed, his eyes glossed over, lips slightly parted in awe, red and swollen. She grins at him, her eyes probably just as glazed as his, and lightly pushes him to sit down on the couch. Emma unzips her pants and lets them drop in a pool around her ankles before making her way towards the couch and straddling him.   
Killian’s breath shudders as his hands make their way to cup her bottom, his fingers playing with the thin fabric of her underwear. His head drops back to the couch, his gaze still dazed and awestruck. Emma smiles, nervously biting her lip in reaction to the look he gives her. One of his hands makes its way to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before pulling her face towards his and capturing her lips in a softer kiss.   
“Swan, if memory serves me right you don’t want to rush into anything.” He tells her, his voice rough and hoarse against her lips.  
“I don’t.” Emma concedes, fearing where this is going. “I still want you, though.” She admits, pressing her lips against his neck, nipping him slightly with her teeth.  
“And I thought you said you wanted to be courted properly.” He continues, a moan escaping his lips when she started to grind against his noticeably throbbing erection.   
“You are courting me properly, Killian.” She tells him, her hands aptly going to the buttons of her shirt and undoing them slowly, mesmerizing him in the process. She has wanted him all day, she’ll be damned if he decides that now is the time he needs to be a proper gentleman.   
“Bloody minx.” He whispers, giving into the temptation and pulling her off of him, making her sit on the couch instead. He kneels in front of her, parting her legs and hooking his hands around her calves to pull her forwards. Every movement happened so quickly that Emma did not get a hold of what was happening until she felt him pulling her underwear down her legs and proceeded to lick and kiss her inner thighs until his mouth was nestled on her core. She had forgotten how good he was at this, how he sucked and pulled slightly on her clit making her go wild. How he kissed her folds as if he were kissing her mouth, slow and steady, grinning widely when he heard the moans that he made her elicit through his actions.   
Killian then slips two fingers into her, pressing the spot that makes her unravel during every stroke. She can feel the heat of her orgasm start to coil in her lower stomach when he starts sucking on her clit in addition to fingering her and palming her breast with his free hand. He nods when he hears her breaths become shallow, a sure-fire sign that she’s close. With a couple of more strokes from Killian’s part, Emma comes loudly. Her body shuddering and quivering in pleasure as wave after wave of her orgasm washes over her.   
Emma lays still on the couch, her arm covering her eyes, her chest rising up and down quickly, her breaths still erratic and panting. She hears Killian chuckle as he kisses a trail from her inner thighs and up her stomach. She looks up to find him looking at her with a knowing smile on his face, resting his head on her knees.  
“Satisfied, Swan?” he asks her cheekily.  
“For now.” She replies, grinning widely but still dazed from what had just happened.   
“You always have been insatiable, love.” He teases, standing up and leading her back to her bed, remembering that she always took a nap after a particularly fantastic orgasm.   
Once in bed, Emma raises his arm and settles in his chest. She smiles as she feels him press his lips to the top of her head.  
“I missed you.” She sighs, her eyes already heavy with sleep.  
“I missed you too, love.” He tells her, tugging her closer to him.  
Emma falls asleep shortly thereafter, feeling blissful and content in his arms.

-/-

Emma Swan considers herself a patient woman and when Killian obliges her request of not wanting to rush into things (she regrets ever saying those words), she’s thankful for the first few days. However, it has been two weeks since they kissed in her office and told each other they loved the other in addition the almost year it has been since they’ve been intimate with the other.   
Emma Swan’s patience is wearing thin.  
She has voiced her concerns to Killian, who always smiles at her devilishly and tells her to be patient, she wanted to be courted properly and he was going to give her that. They end up making out all night, his fingers working fervently inside of her making her crumble night after night, but it’s not enough.   
Tonight, of all nights, Emma decides that she’s been courted well enough to last her a lifetime. Killian invited her to dinner at his place, and she decides to wear her most racy, lace underwear underneath her new royal blue pleated skater dress with the lace off shoulder sleeves. She wears her hair down in loose cascading waves, her lips a deep red color. The blue of the dress makes her hair look more golden than ever and contrasts magnificently with her skin tone.  
“Killian?” She asks loudly as she steps through the threshold of his apartment. She still doesn’t understand how she’s capable of having a key to his apartment, but they haven’t slept together yet.  
The man is ridiculous.  
“In the kitchen, love.” He calls out to her and she makes her way towards the kitchen. She finds him opening a wine bottle he had selected for the night. Pouring the dry Pinot Noir Rosé into two full wine glasses, he looks at her for the first time and almost pours too much into one glass.   
He swears under his breath, making Emma chuckle slightly. She has always been amused when he’s flustered.   
“You look stunning, Swan.” He tells her as she goes around the kitchen island and wraps her hands around his neck.   
“Thank you.” She breathes kissing him full on the mouth, tasting the semi-sweet fruity Pinot Noir Rosé on his lips. “What are you making?” she asks, grinning widely at the way his gaze lingers on her lips after she had licked the wine from them.  
“Ah, a feast worthy for my lovely Swan.” He raises his eyebrows and the smug grin translating into his voice as he lifts the saucepan lid and shows her what he had been cooking.  
“Crawfish Scampi? All for me?” She grins at him, her voice genuinely touched by his actions, and brings up the glass of rosé to her lips. Killian moves closer to her and presses his lips to the side of her forehead.  
“Aye, only the best for you, my love.” He whispers in her ear, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm and welcome against her skin. She wants him so bad.  
“I’m your love?” She asks him, unable to stop the grin spreading across her lips as she turns her body towards his, her arms circling against his neck.  
“Of course, Swan. Do you doubt it?” He asks sincerely, blue eyes gazing intently into her green ones. The way he’s looking at her practically knocks the breath out of her lungs and she can’t resist herself when she kisses him again. He’s taken aback at first, but he quickly regains his composure returning her kiss fervently one hand pressing firmly on the small of her back, the other dug deep in her hair.  
“Not at all.” She whispers when she pulls back, almost laughing at the dumfounded look on Killian’s face. He looked almost pained that the kiss stopped. It was now or never. “I think we should have some pre-dinner activities.” She tells him breathily, a knowing smirk gracing her delicate features.  
“Oh?” Killian’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not sure what kind of activities you mean, Swan.” He responds, his voice innocent but his hands are travelling from her lower back to the cup the curve of her ass.  
“Of course you do, I do believe you’ve been leading up to them these past weeks.” She desperately wants to roll her eyes, but she desperately wants to have sex even more, so she starts to kiss his neck instead. Emma has to stop herself from emitting an irritated groan as he softly pushes her off him. She really thought that she was going to get her way by the way he had moaned when she bit and kissed his neck just moments ago.  
Seriously, when did this man get such an impressive willpower?  
“Swan, I went through all this trouble. Maybe we can indulge in those sinful activities after dinner.” He offers, gently cupping her chin and guiding her face to look at his.   
“Killian, why are you avoiding this?” Emma asks exasperatedly. If he isn’t going to take the hint when she starts things, she’s just going to have to talk it out of him.  
“I’m not, love.” He tells her, but she knows he’s lying.   
“Yes, you are. It took you less time to get me into bed when we saw each other for the first time in eight years and I was married, than it’s taking you to get me into bed when you know I already love you and being with you is all I want. What is going on?” Emma asks him softly, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back onto hers when he tried to look away.  
“I just feel guilty.” He says finally, turning away from her and going to pour more wine into his glass.   
Guilty?  
“Guilty? Why on earth do you feel guilty?” Emma asks confused.  
“Em, I don’t know. Look, I want to have sex with you. Gods, I miss being one with you more than anything, but every time I feel like I’m ready to do it I remember how you said I had used your body and made you feel like nothing. And then I just can’t go through with it.” He pours himself another glass and downs it in two gulps.  
Suddenly everything made sense, his hesitation when she slept over the first night, his want to ‘properly court her’, the way he’s always being attentive to her every need but not really letting her reciprocate. Not that Emma was complaining at the attention to detail he had been giving her, but it’s only normal that she reciprocates.   
“Killian, you can’t think that way.” She tells him honestly, extending her hand towards his and smiling when he grabs it.  
“It’s true.” He answers, miffed.  
“Killian, look I’m not going to say that I deserved what happened, but I am going to tell you that I understand why you did it and that there’s nothing to feel guilty about.” She tells him.  
“I just don’t think I can forgive myself, love.” He answers her quietly, unable to meet her gaze.  
“Well, I forgave you a long time ago. Killian, you were heartbroken and you wanted me to feel the same hurt you felt. I left you, no matter what those circumstances were, no matter what happened, I didn’t give you a proper explanation as to why I was leaving you. I thought that I was doing the right choice for both of us, but I didn’t stop to think how it was going to affect you. I didn’t do the first thing you’re supposed to do with your significant other when I was faced with a problem. I chose for us instead of trying to figure out what could be beneficial for us and the way you reacted when I came back into your life is understandable to me now. I moved on from that and I want you to know that it’s okay for you to do that too.”   
Killian’s response is unprecedented and a welcome surprise when Emma feels his lips pressed up against hers again. His lips move softly against hers and she can tell he’s trying to pour every ounce of love he feels for her into the kiss. His hands cradle her face and as he breaks for air he brushes the hair off her face, tucking it behind her right ear, and he smiles at her lovingly and hazily.  
“You’re too good for me, Swan.” He whispers, pressing his lips to her cheek before nuzzling his face against hers.  
“Not any better than you are for me.” Emma breathes, kissing the corner of his mouth, hungry for more. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted, Killian. You’ve saved me not just once, but twice, and I don’t plan on ever letting you go again.”  
And that did it, the next second Killian had scooped her up, her legs instinctively going around his waist and he brought her to his bed (then he went back to the kitchen to turn off the stove he probably had left on—or so he thought he had). He towered over her, knees on either side of her hips, before lowering himself and kissing every inch of exposed skin. The whole atmosphere felt hazy and dazed, as his lips traveled down her collarbone, the exposed skin of her belly that resulted in her dress being pushed up around her midriff. His lips kissed her hips (not without a snarky remark about her choice of underwear—which according to him she had to wear again), and then they travelled down her legs. He was kissing every inch of her as if he were worried she wasn’t there, wasn’t real, or wasn’t going to be there forever even though she had every intention to be.   
She doesn’t really know how long it takes for it to happen—it could’ve been twenty minutes or it could’ve been two hours—but he’s moving inside her, softly and slowly, every delicious inch slipping into her awakening her senses, every so often he’d kiss a random part of her face and he’d whisper how much he loved her, how he always wanted to be with her, how she was it for him. Never had Killian been so romantic and talkative during sex, and Emma knew he was probably trying to make up for the last time they were intimate, but she appreciated it nonetheless. He shifts them after what seemed like a blissful eternity, and now Emma was sitting on top of him, her hands resting on the headboard behind his head, using it for leverage as she slid up and down his length. She never had much patience for slow lovemaking and in a matter of minutes her pace had quickened, sweat beads forming on her hairline. She hadn’t felt this good in forever it seemed, she hadn’t been this connected to a lover since the first time she and Killian had sex knowing and accepting their relationship as an affair. She feels the familiar heat of her orgasm coiling in her belly and by the sounds of Killian’s moans he is ready too. Dipping her hand between them she adds pressure against her clit, her breaths becoming shallower and shallower, the perfect loving rhythm they had been keeping for who knows how long was now becoming frantic and sloppy as they both chased their peaks. And then it happens; her walls clench around his member and make her frantically cry out his name over and over, he follows behind her almost immediately, her name the same frantic prayer on his lips as his name is on hers.   
“Don’t nap. I made us dinner, remember?” he whispers against her ear, smiling at her already heavy lidded eyes.  
“I wasn’t going to nap.” Emma huffs indignantly as she lifts herself off of him.  
“You always nap.” He laughs. “I love you.” Killian follows, kissing her on her temple.   
“I love you too.” Emma mumbles sleepily, her eyes threatening to shut for at least half an hour before Killian throws his shirt at her and pulls her off the bed.  
They smile at each other over the elegantly prepared dinner table as they eat their dinner ten minutes later, mostly because he’s eating while wearing nothing but his boxers, she’s wearing an oversized shirt of his and nothing else, and raunchy adult cartoons are playing in the TV in the background.  
It’s hardly a picture perfect scenario, but then again no part of their relationship has ever been that way, and Emma wouldn’t have it any other way.


	16. Epilogue

Epilogue

Emma Swan twisted the engagement ring around her finger, counting every lap the diamond band rotated around it, a habit she’d picked back up a year and a half ago when she had first gotten engaged.  
What used to be a telltale sign that she was anxious, but now was just a ghost of a habit she can’t seem to let go.  
And even if she did feel anxious, was it an uneasy anxious? No, a happy anxious definitely.  
She never thought she’d be here again, white gown on, flower bouquet sitting ready on a nearby table just waiting to be picked up.   
Anxiously waiting to get married, again.   
This time, however, it felt right. This time she knew that as she counted every lap the ring made around her finger, that she wasn’t anxious because she was unsure if marrying Killian was the right thing to do. The only reason she was anxious was because she wanted to get through with it and be his partner forever and that’s more than she’ll ever be able to say when it came down to her first marriage.   
Emma doesn’t think that she’ll ever forget when Killian proposed to her. It was only six months after they had gotten back together. It certainly wasn’t the most romantic gesture or most thought out proposal; it was messy and rushed, and imperfect just like them.   
They were spending Labor Day weekend in Storybrooke with Mary Margaret, David, and little Neal who was now over a year old and a bloody demon, according to Killian. At first, Emma thought Killian was exaggerating, the kid was only fifteen months old, how bad could he be? After that night, Emma agreed with him completely, knowing full well that if she didn’t love the kid as much as she did, she’d want nothing to do with him. That Saturday, Emma (much to Killian’s dismay) had agreed that they’d watch over Neal while David and Mary Margaret had their much-needed alone time sailing on Mag’s parent’s boat. The day ended with two migraines, 500 calories burned by running around the house after the kid, spaghetti sauce on Emma’s new white blouse, and an uncertain amount of play dough and glitter glue in each other’s hair.   
“It’s done. He’s asleep.” Emma had said exhausted as she sat back down on the porch, setting down the baby monitor next to her and making sure the volume was at its highest (not that you’d need the monitor, according to Killian, Neal’s lungs had sufficient range for them to hear if he was distressed).  
“Finally.” He smiled at her, handing her a beer can from the cooler and pressing his up to the bruise that was raised on his forehead (Neal’s doing, of course).   
“How does that feel?” Emma had asked.   
“Like a toddler kicked me in the face while I changed his diaper.” He replied, chuckling wryly.   
“We’re terrible at this.” Emma conceded, laughing with him.   
“I consider it practice for when we have a lad as feisty as you are.” Killian told her, wincing slightly as he pressed the can closer to his bruise.  
“I have faith that our kid would be better behaved than our godson.” Emma countered, lying back on her elbows only to notice the stains on her shirt. “This was my favorite shirt.” She continued, “well, not my favorite but it had potential.” She added.   
“Emma,” Killian started but he drifted off, letting her name hang loosely in the air.  
“What?” she asked absentmindedly while looking out at the dusk-lit pier.  
“Marry me.” She almost doesn’t hear the question. Partly because Killian said it so low it’s a miracle she heard him at all and partly because that was the last thing she expected him to say.   
“What?” her head whipped around so fast she almost felt dizzy. Did he really ask her what she thought he was asking her?  
“You heard me, Swan. But I’ll oblige you by asking you again.” He grinned. “Will you marry me?” He was asking her what she thought he was asking her.   
“Shouldn’t you be doing some grand gesture right now?” She replied, grinning widely at him. Of course, she was going to accept.   
“I did have it all planned out. Candle lit dinner on a sailboat, just us two, we’d release lanterns, and end the night watching fireworks while a plane wrote down the question in the sky.” He had added sarcastically.  
“I don’t think right now is the time to be sarcastic, Killian. I haven’t given you an answer.” Emma responded, wiping the slick hair that had stuck to her forehead off her face. In all seriousness, she’ll always be at a loss why he decided to ask her when she looked like this.   
“Emma, say you’ll marry me.”   
“Why?” she teased him, loving the effect that waiting for an answer had on me. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hands.  
“Because I want this forever. I want to be kicked by a toddler in the face, I want you with spaghetti sauce stains on your shirt, I want lazy summer weekends, and coming home to each other every night. As long as I get to spend every day with my best friend, I’ll take whatever life throws at me. So long as I’m with you, Em.” He finished with an expectant smile, digging in his pocket for a small velvet box and handed it to her. Emma opened it and saw the prettiest ring she’d ever seen, prettier than her first, smaller yes but worth so much more in meaning. She felt tears stinging the back of her eyes, threatening to pool in her rims and fall down her cheeks.  
“You want everything with me?” She asked him thickly, looking back up at his hopeful face.  
“Yes.” He said seriously, no trace of mirth anywhere.   
“Then yes, Killian. I’ll marry you.”  
Emma looks at herself in the mirror one more time, smoothing down her dress, before Mary Margaret comes in and tells her it’s time. This time around, Emma and Killian had opted for a smaller ceremony in the docks behind Mary Margaret’s parent’s estate, the place where it all began a second time. Emma had decided to walk down the aisle alone. It might seem silly to others, but the fact that she had to start all over after Walsh really resonated with her. In the past couple of years she had to learn what it was like to feel content with being alone, and she found out that regaining one’s independence is no easy feat. She was threatened by the person that had vowed to take care of her till death do they part and that crumbled down quicker than anything else. She made mistakes and learned from them and now, as she stares out into the crowd the only person she can see is Killian.   
Killian, whose gleaming smile is brightening the whole estate. He’s giving her the look that he reserves only for her, the look of blissful incandescent happiness that you can only give the person who means the world to you. He has always been the person that has known loss the way that she has known loss and with that understanding came the knowledge that she wasn’t just walking down the aisle to her future husband. She was walking towards her future, a future with the person who has grown with her and without her, and somehow with each other’s help, found their way home in each other.


End file.
